MASH The Final Episode
by Ross7
Summary: When a show about war finally ends, it should rest in peace. This story was written while the series was still on the air.
1. Prologue

**Prologue for**

**M*A*S*H**

**The Final Episode**

By Rosanne Emily Esbrook-Iho/Ross7

Based on the original novel by Richard Hooker

Adapted for television by Larry Gelbert

Date written: Summer 1981

Author's note:

My story is based on the CBS television series, M*A*S*H, which is based on a movie by the same title. I didn't like the movie. I never read the book. And I didn't particularly care for the first few episodes of the TV series.

But then something 'clicked'. I don't know who caused the 'click', whether it was the producer, the writers, or the actors themselves, but some unknown person or persons decided to shut the movie projector off, and just let the TV cameras and the actors roll along on their own. This 'declaration of independence' gave some very talented people the creative freedom to produce the M*A*S*H which I consider a SMASH !

In the twinkling of an episode, I saw Radar transformed from an obnoxious, over-sexed little tough guy into a loveable, sensitive kid who claimed 'nuditity' made him 'breathe funny'. And, in the twinkling of an episode, the so-so sequel to the movie became a work of comedic and dramatic genius worthy of a few sequels of its own.

This same super-talented, dedicated group of people (subtract and add a few) has been grinding out Emmy quality episodes for ten years, now, and I've heard rumors that the 'well' may be running dry…that this season may be the season the 'Truce' is signed instead of CBS's contract with Twentieth Century Fox. (I just heard Alan Alda announce the date of the premiere episode for the 1982 season, so the 'well' of fresh ideas can't be bone dry…yet.)

I anguished over the passing of The Man From U.N.C.L.E., Star Trek, Cimarron Strip and Gunsmoke, and if and when M*A*S*H is ever cancelled, I'm going to anguish some more. I've laughed and cried and grown up with the show's characters and when they're gone I'll miss them like others I've laughed and cried and grown up with.

In case they never make a final episode, I have taken the liberty of ending the Korean War for the M*A*S*H characters. When a show about war finally dies, I believe it should rest in 'peace'…

A M*A*S*H fan always,

Rosanne/Ross7

P.S.

While M*A*S*H is highly entertaining, I find it not very educational. I've watched it for ten years now, (not counting re-runs) and never did learn what started the Korean War and why U.S. troops were fighting in it. Then, as research for my story, I dug up some basic 'background info' which I have included in case other uneducated M*A*S*H fans would care to possess a little deeper understanding of what all the fighting was about. (The school year ended before my U.S. History class got to the chapter on the Korean War.)

**PROLOGUE**

The Korean War began on June 25th 1950, with the invasion of South Korea by Communist North Koreans. The United Nations came to the aid of South Korea, sending a multi-national fighting force to support the South Koreans in the defense of their newly formed country.

U.S. troops made up a major part of this United Nations force and were in the thick of the fighting from the very beginning. Twenty-four thousand American Soldiers lost their lives during this cruel and bloody war. And the loss of life would've been even greater if it weren't for the heroic efforts of the doctors and nurses of the Army's Mobile Surgical Hospitals, or M.A.S.H. Units, as they were more often called.

The following story is about one of these Mobile Army Surgical Hospitals...M.A.S.H. Unit No. 4077 to be exact. The time is mid-Spring of 1953...just a couple of months before the signing of the Truce on July 27, 1953. The three bloody years of fighting came to an end within 12 hours of the signing of this long awaited for Truce.

(Basic Background Info. gleaned from Funk and Wagnalls, Unicorn Publishers Inc., New York)

**Mobile Army Surgical Hospital M.A.S.H.**

**M.** The key to understanding the flimsy architectural structure of a M.A.S.H. Unit is the word **MOBILE**. Put a few hinges on some wooden frames, throw a few thousand feet of tent canvas and camouflage netting over the whole thing, add a portable generator and some trucks, and theoretically you have a highly mobile camp. In reality what you have is a depressing olive green circus set that is swelteringly hot in summer, frigidly cold in winter, and dismally dreary, drafty and leaky all the time in between.

**A.** About the only thing that can be said to be genuinely **ARMY** is the color of the tent canvas and ninety-nine percent of the clothing, army green. Ninety-nine percent of the people occupying the tents and wearing the clothing don't consider themselves army people, so it's not surprising to find the place lacking a hard-core army atmosphere. The only saluting done in the camp is by stray dogs as they trot past the tent stakes.

**S.** Colonel Sherman T. Potter, the camp's C.O., is an old Cavalry man. He is also the only doctor in the camp that is there by choice. The Colonel is an army lifer, a career officer who also happens to possess a certain **SURGICAL **prowess. It was because the Army had a shortage of Colonel Potters that it was forced to draft civilian doctors to staff its new Mobile Surgical Hospitals.

Benjamin Franklin Pierce, B.J. Hunnicutt and Charles Emerson Winchester III were all surgeons working in civilian hospitals when they were recruited into the Armed Forces. After just five weeks of only the basics of Basics, they were handed the uniforms of their new respective ranks and a one way plane ticket to Korea. Thus, in the sputtering of a plane's engine, these talented MD's found themselves skillfully trying to reconstruct the young men bent on self-destruction.

**H.** Webster's describes a **HOSPITAL** as an institution where the ill or injured may receive medical or surgical treatment, nursing, etc. Major Margaret Houlahan is in charge of the nursing etc. part of the 4077th's Mobile Hospital. She and her nurses stand elbow to elbow with the surgeons in the O.R. for long grueling hours, and then sit hand-in-hand with the recovering patients for countless more hours in the Post-Op Wards. It takes a special kind of person to keep functioning under such grim, stressful conditions, and these army nurses are very special people.

**THE KOREAN SCENE IN THE SPRING OF 1953:**

In mid-April, the United Nations and the North Korean Communists begin an exchange of sick and wounded prisoners.

Armistice talks resume after a lapse since Oct. 8th of 1952.

The UN and North Korean Communist delegations meet after final delivery of sick and wounded POWs.

UN and NK Communist delegates go into secret session at Panmunjom, then, after a week's recess, agree to a general prisoner exchange.

In mid-June, U.S. Army Intelligence reports a fighting force of about 60,000 Chinese Communists has crossed the border into North Korea. Fighting along the South Korean Central Front suddenly intensifies after a month long lull.

UN multinational forces suffer moderate casualties. Morale suffers an all-time low as hopes for an eventual cease-fire are dashed to pieces.

UN Troop Commanders find themselves holding their breath in anticipation of the Chinese Communists next moves.

**Author's note:** Basic Background Info. gleaned from Funk and Wagnalls, Unicorn Publishers Inc., New York

**End of Prologue**


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The M*A*S*H characters do not belong to me. This fic' was written purely for fun and not for fortune.

**M*A*S*H**

**The Final Episode**

By Rosanne Emily Esbrook-Iho/Ross7

Based on the original novel by Richard Hooker

Adapted for television by Larry Gelbert

**Chapter One**

The spring of '53 arrived in Korea the way it arrives each year, on the moist, mild air currents of a prevailing wind called Kuroshio. Kuroshio blows steadily up from the South China Sea until long after it has freed the frozen Korean Peninsula from the icy shackles of winter.

What happens when these moist and mild air currents collide with this rather large, super-chilled chunk of landmass is elementary, actually. As the air warms the land, the land cools the air and causes all that moisture it's carrying to condense and fall in the form of rain...rain...and more rain! The rain prevails as long as the prevailing wind does–usually anywhere from four to six weeks.

But Kuroshio had been blowing and the rains had been prevailing for six and a half weeks now with hardly a let up. Which _precipitated_ a problem. Before the ground could soak up one shower, another one had already begun, causing the country's 'barely negotiable', 'nothing more then glorified cow trails' roads to heave with frost and ooze with mud–and rendering them practically impassable to motorized vehicles such as troop transport trucks, jeeps and ambulances.

A-and, anticipating that wounded allied personnel–involved in the current Police Action being taken by the UN's multinational peacekeeping forces stationed in South Korea–would be unable to get to the various Mobile Army Surgical Hospitals under such adverse conditions, the top brass at I-Corp advanced the various M.A.S.H. units a bit closer to the wounded...a bit too close, perhaps.

For the past several, soggy weeks now, M.A.S.H. 4077 had been occupying a sopping-wet clearing in a water-logged little strip of woods on the top of a rain-drenched ridge on a super-saturated hill less then two miles from the front lines.

There were three constants in the camp: Everybody was miserable. Every day it rained. And, everywhere there was mud.

The main compound bore a striking resemblance to a pigsty, and so they called their soggy little gully 'Wallow Hollow' Korea.

Tents were continuously collapsing because the stakes were too short to hold up in the mud...which was too deep.

Captain Pierce commented to his bunkies that their _Swamp_ was really living up to its name now.

They had a network of boardwalks laid out for awhile, but the boards were slipperier then the mud–when wet–and they were always wet. And so, after some spectacularly embarrassing spills–which prompted Captain Hunnicutt to describe Korea as a 'Wash & Wear' country, ("The rain washes it...and we wear it!") the planks were pried up out of the mud and used for a sort of floor in the Mess Tent–which was also really living up to its name.

Add to all this a severe shortage of supplies and fresh drinking water, outbreaks of fever, foot fungus, stomach flu, missed mail calls and dysentery–and it was easy to see why morale wasn't just low in camp–it was practically non-existent! The rain had dampened everything in the camp–including their spirits.

That was what was in the back–and front–of Colonel Potter's mind, as he stood over the bleeding body of a badly wounded Turkish soldier in the 4077th's makeshift O.R..

The inner sanctum of the 4077th's surgical ward was a fairly large, open room containing several tall, rectangular-shaped tables. And–following close encounters of the peacekeeping kind–these tables were occupied by two groups of soldiers: those being operated on, and those who were about to be operated on.

Army doctors and nurses in once white surgical garb worked feverishly to repair what the other side had just worked so feverishly to destroy.

Still, other nurses and orderlies moved quickly and efficiently about their business as the rumbling of heavy artillery sounded in the not too distant distance.

The strictly medical chatter of doctors requesting various surgical instruments and nurses reading vital signs was often interrupted by outbursts such as this:

"What's the holdup out there? Where the hell is this guy's x-ray?"

"Would someone plea-ease be so kind as to get me a drink of water?"

"I do not have to read the little numbers to know that this is the wrong x-ray, Lieutenant. This patient no longer has a left leg." (Rumbling of distant artillery fire.)

"Davis, go find me this guy's x-ray, will you?"

"All right, who needs a picture of a right leg wound?"

"Over here!"

"Goldman! Where the hell have you been?"

"Here you go, Major. Sorry Captain, but we had a little accident in the dark room. Somebody knocked the stacks over and some of the trays got mixed up. What d' yah got, Doc?"

"If I knew that, Goldman, I wouldn't need the x-ray!"

"Ease up, Hunnicutt, accidents happen."

"I'm aware of that, Colonel. It's just that this poor kid has had enough _accidents_ for one day."

"Where is my water?"

"Hey, Goldman, you got any hip shots?"

"One...or both?"

"Just one...the left one."

"Left?"

"Right."

"You got it!"

"I don't believe this! Okay, I'll take the closest thing you've got to a belly wound."

"Upper or lower?"

(frustrated gasp) "Upper right quadrant."

"Here you go, sir!"

"Thank you, Goldman."

"I'll see your upper right quadrant and raise you one left hip."

"Okay, I call. What d'yah got?"

"Just a strait hairline pelvic fracture..."

"Mortar fragments...looks like a full house."

"Uh...you lose."

"Just so long as he doesn't."

(disgusted grunt) "Colonel Potter will you–?"

"Yes, Winchester, I will. Cut the gab, you two!"

"All right, everybody quiet down. Charles can't hear the boom-booms." (two loud explosions)

"Oh...I get it. William Tell's Overture in G-Major right, Winchester?"

"Dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-da..." (boom...boom)

"I have no desire whatsoever to listen to either you or the roar of the war. However, if I must choose between the two, I should prefer the boom-booms to your off-key shouting, any day."

"Off-key? Well, how 'bout C-Major? Dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-dant-da..." (boom...boom).

(gasp of frustration) "Pie-ierce–!"

"Oh boy! Here comes my favorite part...a _solo_ from the _wind_ section."

(snickers, chuckles...then complete silence.)

Such was the sort of dialogue _usually_ heard in M.A.S.H. 4077's O.R., _usually_. But lately it's been just:

"More suction."

"Hemostat."

"Clamp."

"More light."

"Two units of plasma, Davis."

"Retractor."

"Get this guy into Post-Op and tell Mason to keep that drainage tube open."

"Yes, Doctor."

" We got an empty table here."

"Litter!"

This sudden lack of teasing, bantering and bickering amongst the troops, had Colonel Potter worried. He knew the silence meant his people were keeping their emotions all bottled up inside. If the pressure wasn't _released_ from time-to-time, somebody could self-destruct.

Before him, the surgeon could see war's effects on the human _body_. The silence around him was a warning sign that the human _spirit_was also under attack. Since he was the camp's Commanding Officer, it was his responsibility to maintain the camp's morale. He decided it was about time he raised the lid on the _kettle_ a little...to help it let off some _steam_.

While the O.R. was in operation, its windows remained closed and completely covered. As a result, no one was ever really sure what time of day it was. Whether it was the middle of the night, early morning or late afternoon outside, inside, the bright lamps suspended over the tables always gave the room the sunny glow of midday.

Cut off from the rest of the camp and the world as they were, people working inside might have had a tendency to lose all track of the passing of time...if it weren't for little annoying reminders like the growling of an empty stomach, or...

Captain Hunnicutt quickly finished tying off his last suture and turned to the nurse who'd been dozing beside him, "Margaret, I hate to have to wake you, but could you close for me?"

The startled nurse's eyes snapped open. "Close? Doctor, I can't close until you've finished."

Hunnicutt stared at the nurse in disbelief. "That's the proper order all right–unless they've changed the rules. Now, will you _please_ close for me?" he repeated, a tone of desperation creeping into his voice. He offered the nurse his needle and thread.

Margaret aimed her amazed gaze down at the young man on the table. "But...That procedure usually takes you thirty minutes!"

"I guess I must work a lot faster when I'm _under pressure_..." he hinted.

The look in the nurse's tired eyes turned from one of amazement to amusement and she snatched the needle and thread from him.

The Captain gave her a look of undying gratitude and started to leave.

"Hold it, Hunnicutt!" Colonel Potter advised.

"I'm trying, Colonel. I'm trying," the surgeon assured him and continued to take his leave.

Potter left his table to step between the Captain and the exit. "Just where do you think you're going?"

"To the little boy's room," Hunnicutt impatiently explained, and tried sidestepping the Colonel.

Potter sidestepped too, and continued to block his path to the door. "Funny...I don't recall giving you permission to leave this room."

The Captain looked somewhat puzzled. "Funny...I don't recall ever _needing_ your permission to leave this room."

Potter's eyes narrowed. "Well, you do!"

Hunnicutt's eyes momentarily flashed with rage and indignation. But then they softened again and his slumped shoulders sagged even more–in defeat. He raised his right arm and waved his hand. "Teacher, may I _please_ be excused?"

Potter frowned behind his mask. The _lid_was obviously on a whole lot _tighter_ than he'd originally thought. He turned to a passing nurse, "How many more are out there?"

"Five, sir, that can't wait," she replied without stopping.

Potter turned back to Hunnicutt, "If you go out there now, you're gonna have to scrub all over again, and you heard her. They can't wait. So you're gonna have to."

The Captain's eyes flashed with rage and indignation again. "I don't believe this!" he shouted to no one in particular. "Silly me. It's my own fault actually. I mean, I should've known better than to drink that cup of coffee for breakfast. And that glass of juice for lunch. I should've known it would eventually lead to this! Colonel, I'm not going to the little boy's room to powder my nose! I'm not standing here with my legs crossed like this for good luck! If I don't go _out there_ right now, I'm gonna go _in here_. And I won't just have to scrub. I'll have to change and scrub! Now, how _sterile_ does that sound?" he sarcastically demanded.

Potter's surgical mask hid the broad grin he was wearing. He'd like to have answered that it sounded like music to his ears. Instead, he avoided Hunnicutt's eyes and crossed back over to his patient. "Go ahead then," he grumpily allowed. "But make it snappy!"

"Oh, taxi!" The Captain hailed a passing empty stretcher and collapsed exhaustedly onto it.

"Where to, sir?" one of the stretcher-bearers inquired

"The nearest latrine...and you'd better step on it!"

The two orderlies glanced at each other and rolled their eyes before quickly carting the collapsed Captain from the OR..

Potter watched them leave. "Damn! Should a' never let him lie down. We'll never get him back on his feet again." 'One down,' he triumphantly told himself. He glanced up at the silent, moody surgeon standing directly across from him. "You awake over there, Pierce? I haven't heard a discouraging word out of you all day..."

"I'm awake," Pierce assured the Colonel, not even bothering to look up. "Clamp."

Potter gave Pierce a concerned stare. 'You can be last,' he determined, and refocused his attention. "What about you, Winchester?"

"What? Well...I must say, these surgical marathons can be quite challenging to one's physical and mental endurance all right. But you may rest assured, Colonel that _my_ mind remains alert and my fingers remain nimble. More suction."

Potter's frown returned. Major Winchester was usually good for five to ten minutes of complaining...usually. Oh, well, back to square one.

Captain Hunnicutt returned several silent minutes later–on his stretcher taxi–holding his freshly scrubbed arms up in the air. The surgeon's eyes were closed and he had one end of an IV tube stuck in his mouth, through a small slit in his surgical mask.

A nurse stood beside him holding an inverted glass plasma bottle to which was attached the other end of the IV tube. The bottle and tube contained a black murky substance bearing a strong resemblance to the camp's coffee.

The orderlies carried the stretcher over to a table. One of them lowered his end to the floor, and then stepped around to help his partner raise his. "You'd better lock your knees, sir..." they advised as the stretcher approached a near vertical position.

Hunnicutt did and they slid him off the stretcher and onto his feet.

A nurse slid a fresh pair of sterile, skintight surgical gloves onto his outstretched hands.

"Wake up, sir. You're home," his cab driver announced.

No response.

"The meter's running..." he added.

Hunnicutt's eyes snapped open. He glanced around the room, looking tremendously disappointed. "This is the wrong address," he grumbled, through clenched teeth. "This isn't 2102 East Leslie. This isn't Mill Valley."

"We told you, we're a local company. We have to be. We can't walk on water." The two orderlies picked their stretcher back up and started to leave.

The Captain's tired, bloodshot eyes followed them from the room, "Thanks for the lift, fellah's!" he called out as they disappeared.

"Any time!" their muffled voices chorused back.

"And thank _you_ for the lift," Hunnicutt told Nurse Davis as she yanked the IV tube from his mouth and tied a fresh mask in place. "A little clearing of the kidneys...a few cc's of caffeine and I _almost_ feel up to another 12 hours," he sarcastically stated.

"It's been twelve hours?" Margaret queried in disbelief. "_Twelve hours_ without a break!" she added, and held an x-ray up to the light.

Hunnicutt studied it carefully. "What are you complaining about, Margaret? The choppers didn't start coming in till dawn. You got three hours of sleep–the same as the rest of us."

She gave the surgeon a look that showed she definitely appreciated his sarcasm. "You might've gotten three hours, but I didn't. There was a dog just outside my tent making such an awful racket that it kept me awake. Didn't _you_ hear it?" She lowered the x-ray and placed a surgical instrument in the doctor's open hand.

"I'm gonna need a longer probe," he told her.

"Surely you must've heard it." She switched instruments. "You had to have heard it!"

"Okay. I heard it. Scalpel."

Margaret's eyes narrowed menacingly and she slapped the instrument into his hand. "Well, why didn't you get up and do something about it!"

"Suction. About what?"

She gasped in frustration, "The dog...last night."

"Clamp. That was a dog?"

"What did you think was making that awful racket!" she demanded.

Hunnicutt removed a jagged piece of metal from his patient's abdomen and dropped it into the basin on the stand beside him. "More suction. I'm gonna need about six inches. Well, since it was coming from over by_your_ tent, I just naturally assumed it was you..._barking_ out orders."

Several moans and groans sounded from the people standing within earshot.

Margaret cut off a section of surgical thread and slapped it very forcefully into the Captain's open palm. "You're as disgusting as your puns!"

"Hold that there for me," he requested, slipping her a retractor. "I'll forgive you for that, Margaret, because I know you had a _ruff_ night."

More moans and groans sounded.

Margaret winced. "Ugh! I won't forgive _you_ for _that_!"

"Colonel Potter! Colonel Potter!" company clerk, Sergeant Klinger shouted as he suddenly came barging into the room.

Potter glanced up from his work and spotted the man's grin. "Klinger, what's gotten into you? You, of all people, should know better than to come in here without a mask on!"

"Sorry, sir. I got carried away–with excitement!" he explained as a nurse tied a mask over his nose and mouth. "The mail's found us, sir! And you'll never guess what was in it!"

"Don't tell me," Potter replied. "You got a letter from Toledo, Ohio. Your family's won the Lebanese Lottery."

Klinger's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Something even _better_ than that, sir!" He held up an airmail envelope. "It's postmarked Otumwa, Iowa, and it's addressed to the entire camp!"

All eyes in the room suddenly riveted on the Sergeant and his raised right hand. "Radar!" their voices all chorused at once.

Potter's eyes lit up, "Don't just stand there! Read it!"

The people in the room voiced their unanimous approval of the idea.

Potter saw them all standing still in anticipation. "And while you're reading, _we'll all be working_!"

They took the hint and returned to work.

Klinger opened the envelope, slid several sheets of paper out and unfolded them. "The mail service must be getting better. It only took three weeks to get here," he looked up and saw several people giving him annoyed, impatient glances. He cleared his throat and held up the letter, "My Dear Friends at MASH 4077, the best MASH in all Korea. It's been nearly four months now since I said goodbye to you guys. It seems more like four lifetimes.

I can't really explain why I haven't written sooner. It just seems like my mind wants me to forget the war and to forget I ever was in Korea. But I can't. There isn't a day goes by that I don't think of you guys and all the good times we shared together at the 4077.

There also isn't a day goes by that I don't hope and pray you'll all be coming home soon so that you's can start forgetting, too." Klinger's vision blurred. He blinked and continued, "I talked to Mr. Arthur Coleman at the feed store yesterday. Mr. Coleman is a retired college professor. He and his wife, Alice, bought the old Miller farm, which is just up the road from us. So now they're our closest neighbors. They seem like real nice people, too.

Mr. Coleman let my mom use his prize Duroc boar to breed our prize Berkshire sow, Daphne. Gee, I sort a' got off the track a little. I was going to tell you what Mr. Coleman told me at the feed store yesterday.

Mr. Coleman used to teach Political Science at I.S.U., and he seems real smart about these things and he told me he thinks a truce will be signed within a month–or two, at the most! He said the North Koreans and the Chinese have a centuries-old hatred and deep resentment for one another and that they're sure to make very bitter allies. He thinks the NKs will do anything, even sign an armistice agreement, if it will get the Chinese Communists out of their country.

I told him I sure hope he's _right_! He also said that while there may be a written truce agreement, he can see no real end to the fighting. In fact, he says he can already see another Korea developing in Indochina. I told him I sure hope he's _wrong_!"

Klinger managed a solemn pause, then continued, "On the brighter side, Daphne had 14 piglets this morning and she only got to eat four this time, cuz I was there to take them away," Klinger's mask hid his grin. "Gee, I guess that side isn't so bright after all," he read, and was momentarily too amused to continue.

"My mom, Mr. Coleman, just about everybody I talk to around here, seems to think I should go to College on the GI Bill and further my education. I keep telling them I think my education was furthered enough in Korea to last me awhile.

I just want to take it easy now. Maybe I'll build the farm and livestock up and maybe plant a few crops and maybe settle down and maybe get married and maybe raise some kids. Oh yeah, I guess I should tell you's. Me and Miss Patricia Ann Haven have been going steady for the past four months. Patty's a swell person. I know you'd like her. We met in the airport in Tokyo when I was on my way back from R&R. Patty was an Army nurse and she was leaving for the States. We got to talking and found out we grew up only a hundred miles from each other. Patty lives over in Griswold, now.

My Uncle Ed's old Studebaker didn't turn out to be a very reliable courtin' car. It was always breaking down and leaving us stranded in the middle of nowheres," Klinger looked up at Pierce and Hunnicutt. "Gone four months and he's already forgotten everything we taught him!"

Their eyes sparkled with amusement.

Klinger's attention returned to the letter. "I know what you guys are thinking, but Patty isn't that kind a' girl...and besides, she trusts me," he was forced to stop again as the sound of hearty laughter filled the room.

The laughter died down and he attempted to continue, "I don't trust me like she does. So I took some of my savings and put a down payment on a new Ford convertible. She's a real beauty! (The car–not Patty.)" Klinger cracked up.

Everyone cracked up again.

Klinger regained his composure, "I mean Patty's a real beauty, too. But I meant the convertible. Anyways, with my new car, I can make it over to Patty's house in 27 minutes flat now. That means, I can spend 66 more minutes with her and still make it home by eleven.

My mom doesn't set down the rules for me anymore. She says, I'm a man now and I can come and go as I please. But, I know it makes her feel better when I go after supper and come home by eleven. My mom hasn't changed.

She says I sure have though. She says, it's like I'm a whole different person. I feel like I am two different persons. Or at least was. It's like the person named Radar stayed in Korea with you guys and the person named Walter came home to his mother. But the person named Walter can remember everything Radar ever thought or felt.

I miss all of you very much. I miss the way you used to call me Radar. Nobody calls me Radar around here and I don't want them to either. Radar is something special between you guys and me and nobody else. Living and working together brought us together like a family. I still think of Colonel Potter as a father. The rest of you are still like brothers and sisters.

I made it through 27 months in Korea with most of you guys. We made it together. We each had our own unique method of coping with the horrors.

I remember Hawkeye's was to resist them with every bit of his body and soul.

B.J.'s was to try and find some speck of good in them, and if nothing good, at least something humorous.

Charles tried to pretend the horrors weren't so horrible after all, by bringing a touch of civility to such uncivilized surroundings.

Major Houlahan (I still can't bring myself to call you Margaret) used to convince everyone she was immune to the horrors, and if they believed it, it helped her to believe it.

Klinger's secret was to rally behind a worthwhile cause and then never forsake it.

My method of coping was to hug my Teddy bear and watch the rest of you guys coping.

Everyday that we endured, I felt more and more obliged to you guys. I would've never made it if it weren't for you's and your abilities to cope with the things I could never cope with alone. I owe you all so much, I could never repay you. And I love you all so much, I could never really leave you.

I guess that must be why I feel the part of me that was Radar is still with you in Korea.

And, if the part of me that is Walter is changed, it's because he took a little bit of each one of you home with him to Iowa.

I think I've changed for the _better_. And I can't wait till the rest of you's get here! So take care of yourselves, and keep on coping! You've made it this far–you can make it the rest of the way! I just know you can! (Remember, you didn't give me the name _Radar_ for nothing).

All my love, your friend, Radar Walter O'Reilly..." Klinger paused to blink his blurred vision clear. Then, he sniffled and continued, "P.S. I'd appreciate it if someone would go over to the orphanage some day and check up on my animals. I miss them, too. P.P.S. Klinger, if I know anything about how the Army operates, which, after 27 months as a MASH company clerk, I think I do, I figure my replacement will probably arrive the day the truce is signed." Klinger smiled sadly behind his mask and slowly lowered the letter.

There was a long, solemn silence, interrupted only by an occasional sniffle.

'Good old Radar is still living up to his name,' Potter thought to himself. His letter was just the boost in the arm their slumping morale needed. He blinked his own watering eyes, and then drew his shoulders back. "That's my boy!" he announced with all the gusto of a proud father. He saw Hawkeye staring off into space.

"Dear...sweet...innocent...lovable old Radar," Pierce muttered finally, "is still just as dear and sweet and innocent and lovable as ever. God I miss him! I think maybe we oughtta call him when we finish up here and tell him thanks for the news from home, or something."

The rest of the people in the room all voiced their unanimous approval of the idea.

Pierce glanced up at Potter, "How 'bout it, Colonel?"

Potter gazed fondly into the two dozen sets of eyes that suddenly riveted on his. "I get to talk first," he determined.

The eyes looked delighted and focused their attention back on their work.

"Ah nah," Captain Pierce protested. "It was my idea. I should get to go first."

Once again, Potter's mask hid his grin. "I go first and I don't wanna hear any more arguments about it. It's all settled," he added, halting Hawkeye's further complaints. "I'm the C.O.. I pay the phone bills around here, so to speak. So I get to do the first speaking!"

Pierce's eyes flashed with mock contempt. "Tyrant!"

Major Winchester finished with his patient and started to leave that table for another. He found he couldn't move. "Quick! Someone find me a chair!" he pleaded.

"No sitting down on the job, Charles!" Hawkeye reminded him.

"My legs have fallen asleep! I cannot move them!" Winchester saw no attempt was being made to find him a chair. He grimaced and let out a pitiful groan. "Will someone at least place a few blankets and pillows down around me so that when my knees buckle and I drop to the floor I might at least have a softer landing?"

Major Houlahan drew in a deep breath and let out a long exhausted sigh before stepping over to the troubled doctor and flinging his right arm around her neck. "C'mon, Charles, the best way to get the circulation going is to get going. A little walk around the room, they'll be as good as new."

Hunnicutt finished working on his latest patient and looked up just in time to see the two Majors go strolling by, locked in each other's arms. He decided to pass up this prime opportunity for humor. Choosing, instead, to dish out some sound advice. "Margaret's right. You gotta keep moving. The trick is to keep shifting your weight from foot to foot. That way, only one leg dies at a time."

Pierce glanced back up, spotted the odd couple and smiled beneath his mask, "I envy you, Charles. A voluptuous woman, no longer able to contain her seething emotions, wraps her arms around you and carts you off. Ooh, I'll bet you must be on pins and needles over there."

Winchester stopped groaning just long enough to give the good Captain a disgusted glare.

Klinger started to leave, but then suddenly remembered something and turned back to Potter. "Oh, Colonel, with all the excitement over Radar's letter, I almost forgot. The guy that just delivered the mail also delivered a hot rumor." Klinger paused, seeing he had everyone's undivided attention once again. "Unofficial word is, sir, that we should be prepared for an immediate bug-out."

Klinger's audience managed amused snorts and returned to their duties.

Potter looked thoughtful. "Did this guy happen to mention the _source_ of this rumor?"

Klinger nodded, "The 8063rd."

B.J. glanced up. "It's becoming impossible to distinguish between the honest and for true bug-out rumors and the just plain bug-us rumors. What is this? The fourth or fifth rumor this week?"

Klinger glanced solemnly around the room. "The guy that delivered this rumor was in such a rush to head south, he wouldn't even stay for supper."

Pierce glanced up again, "That's easily explained. He's obviously eaten here before."

The nurses and orderlies snickered.

Colonel Potter couldn't seem to stop smiling behind his mask. "Just to be on the safe side, you'd better set the bug-out wheel in motion, Sergeant."

Klinger appeared pleased. "Yes, sir!" he acknowledged snappily. The Sergeant then spun on his heels and disappeared out the door.

Major Houlahan ushered Winchester back up to an operating table, "How are the legs?"

"Fine. Thank you, Margaret." Charles slid his right arm from around her neck, grimaced and then pitifully proclaimed, "Now my arm has gone to sleep!"

Margaret let out a rather pitiful groan of her own.

**TBC**


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Two, long, busy hours later, the O.R. was still hopping...well, crawling anyways.

Colonel Potter watched, as two orderlies carted his 12th patient off to Post-Op. "There's an empty table over here!" he wearily called out.

Pierce glanced around the room, "Must be an epidemic. There are four more over here."

Hunnicutt glanced up, "Don't tell me we've run out of customers. No, wait–_tell_ me we've run out of customers!" he pleaded of a passing nurse.

"We've run out of customers," she obligingly told him.

B.J.'s tired, bloodshot eyes lit up. "This calls for a special celebration! A going out of business celebration."

Hawkeye stood there, listening to the sounds of heavy artillery fire. "You mean a _temporarily_ going out of business celebration," he corrected, sounding terribly sad...and looking completely drained. He shut his eyes tightly, slammed his clenched fist down on the empty table in front of him and cursed, "Just when it looked like peace was really possible...a bunch of Chinese ah-so's had to come along and muck things up!"

There was a long silence.

When Pierce reopened his eyes, his three colleagues were staring at him, looking more than a little worried and concerned. He decided he'd better try and lighten the mood back up. "I hope Radar's friend is right about the truce. Cuz, if he's wrong, I swear, I'd never be able to eat Chinese food again, as long as I lived!"

His fellow surgeons forced themselves to appear less grim, but a solemn atmosphere remained in the room.

Nurse Davis appeared in the doorway between the O.R. and Post Op. "Man! It's really coming down out there!" she announced, shaking the raindrops from her pretty blonde head. "I've been asked to make an announcement. For all those who haven't suffered enough already today, there's a nice, hot meal waiting for you over in the Mess Tent," she paused. "Well, a hot meal anyways," she quickly corrected.

"Thanks for the warning, Davis," B.J. told her. He and the others started filing from the room.

"Hold it!" Potter called after them.

"Ahh, Colonel, not again," Hunnicutt groaned. "I'm too tired to raise my hand."

Potter gave him an annoyed glare, and then focused his attention on the entire group. "I know our appetites haven't been what they should be lately, and that we've had to operate on a liquid diet for the past few days. But, when we get the chance to partake of some **solid** food, I think we should take it." He was momentarily drowned out by the boos and hisses of his audience and waited patiently until they died down. "I appreciate your feelings. I know my stomach isn't too fond of the idea itself. But we've got to keep our strength up somehow. So, I strongly urge each one of you to put an appearance in over at the Mess tent this evening! Class dismissed!" he shouted and then hurried off before any further arguments could be raised.

The people grumbled out of the O.R..

Pierce, Hunnicutt and Winchester limped into the little cubbyhole used for changing.

"What are your plans for the evening?" Hawkeye inquired, pulling his surgical smock over his head.

B.J. carefully slid his blood-soaked smock off. The surgeon stared distastefully down at it for a few moments before letting it drop to the floor. "First, I'm gonna track down Klinger and get my mail. Then, the showers. After that, it's over to the Swamp for a few pints of liquid courage. Next," he made a face, "by unpopular demand, the Mess. If I make it through there _alive_, it's back to the Swamp for some after dinner drinks. Finally, a night cap or two before I turn in."

Winchester grunted disgustedly. "Turn in. Turn in to what?" he wondered sarcastically. "An alcoholic?"

B.J. looked thoughtful. "You're right, Charles. I'll skip the night caps."

Winchester appeared even more disgusted but refrained from further comment.

Hunnicutt turn back to Pierce, "What about you?"

"We-ell, since the ladies'll probably keep the showers tied up for awhile–"

B.J. interrupted him with a curse and quickly dropped his bloodstained britches, "I forgot all about the ladies!" What little hot water there was was bound to be used up, by the time the _women_ were through showering.

"–I guess I'll go over to Potter's office and see about getting that call through to Radar," Pierce finished.

B.J. brightened. "I forgot all about that call to Radar! C'mon! The showers can wai–" he stopped talking suddenly and a strange look came over him. "Davis did say it was _raining_ out there?"

Pierce looked curious and nodded.

"A nice..._warm_...Spring rain?" Hunnicutt added, hintingly.

A look of gradual understanding came over Hawkeye.

Winchester glanced from Pierce to Hunnicutt to Pierce. "You wouldn't!"

The two men broke into broad, devious grins.

Winchester saw their grins and frowned. "You would."

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Colonel Potter finished up the paperwork on his desk and breathed a long sigh of relief. "Klinger?"

The Sergeant poked his head into Potter's office.

"Any verification from I-Corp, yet, on that bug-out rumor?"

"Nothing yet, sir. But the shelling does seem to be getting closer."

Potter exhaled another sigh, of frustration. "I was hoping that was thunder. I was praying the game would be called on account of rain. What about that call to Radar?"

"Still unable to get through, sir. But I'll keep trying. Everything that isn't still being used has been loaded into the trucks. The choppers'll be here at dawn to EVAC the latest wounded. Shall we continue the bug-out preparations, sir?"

"We'd better hold off till it's _official_, or till the rain lets up a bit."

"Yes, sir," Klinger agreed and started to disappear.

"Wait up!" Potter requested.

His Sergeant halted.

The Colonel pulled a nearly completed form from the top drawer of his desk and stared solemnly down at it. "I'd like you to run over to the Swamp and tell Captain Hunnicutt that I'd like to see him a minute."

"He's not in the Swamp, sir."

"Where is he?"

Klinger hesitated. "He and Captain Pierce are out there...running around in the rain."

Potter appeared most amused by the news. "In their birthday suits?"

"In their shorts, sir. The last time I looked, they were playing catch with a bar of soap."

A smile crossed the Colonel's lips. "Never mind, Sergeant. I'll tell him myself."

"Yes, sir!" Klinger acknowledged with a grin.

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"Ahhh..." Colonel Potter grinned and squinted out through the blackness as warm, wet raindrops gently pelted his face–and the rest of his nearly naked body. "Invigorating! Why I haven't felt this _alive_ in months!" he enthusiastically exclaimed. He massaged his aching arms and shoulders, and then turned to the two men seated on the bench beside him. "Pass the soap back this-a-way, will you..."

They did.

Potter took the slippery bar and started lathering his chest. "You know," he quietly continued, "Mildred and I just love to walk in the rain." He smiled and stared off into the distance. "Never owned an umbrella, and never once caught cold, either!" he proudly tacked on, and kept right on smiling.

His two companions glanced at each other and smiled, as well.

Major Winchester stood behind them, under the protective canvas of the Mess tent roof, looking very dry and disgusted. He gazed out the mesh screen at the three bare backs of the men on the bench. "Have you no shame?"

"You obviously have enough for the three of us, Charles," Pierce shot back over his shoulder. "So, we'll stick to the fun...if you don't mind..." he added, hintingly.

"Fun?" the Bostonian grunted, skeptically.

"Don't knock it," Potter advised, "till you've tried it."

Winchester managed another deeply skeptical grunt. Then he shuddered and turned his back on the obscene scene. His untouched food tray rested on the table before him. He stared down at its contents and shuddered again...another obscene scene.

"May I join you, Major?" a sensuous voice suddenly asked.

He redirected his gaze to the very attractive woman standing before him. "Oh, please do, Margaret," he desperately pleaded. "Please...do."

Houlahan gave him a strange stare. Then she set her tray down and dropped onto the empty bench directly across the table from him.

Charles sat down, too and stared impolitely at his dinner companion, admiring the curvature of her lovely face. "If only the food looked as appetizing as you do," he whispered, wistfully.

The nurse caught his comment and glanced up from her tray, looking terribly flattered. "Why, thank you, Charles!" The woman's gaze returned to the food. "What are those little round brown things?"

Winchester gave the objects in question a quick, distasteful glance and shuddered a third time. "I haven't the vaguest notion," he assured her. "And I am not the least bit anxious to find out, either. I have no difficulty whatsoever containing my curiosity in this den of calamitous cuisine."

Margaret ignored him and poked at one of the morsels with her fork "Must be some sort of meatball," she figured. "The question now is: what sort of meat ball?" She glanced around the room. "Does anybody know?"

"The cook swore me to secrecy," Hunnicutt answered her, from his seat just outside the tent. "But I can tell you this much–"

The startled nurse stared out the screen window, through the dim light, at the nearly nude bodies of the three men on the bench.

"–It's gonna be a lot quieter around here from now on," B.J. went on. "And I guarantee, you won't have any trouble sleeping _tonight_!"

Margaret stared down at her mystery meatballs, looking thoughtful.

Everybody stared down at their meatballs.

The three men on the bench heard complete silence from within the tent, then the unmistakable sound of forks dropping onto metal trays.

Pierce and Hunnicutt cracked up laughing.

Potter just sat there, sadly shaking his head. "Hunnicutt, there are times when I wish you'd put a muzzle on that morbid sense of humor of yours–and **this** is one of them!" he added sternly.

The two amused Captains forced themselves to sober, somewhat.

Potter reluctantly got to his feet. "Be in my office in five minutes, Hunnicutt," he ordered, then started limping off through the mud. "I have a little something I want to discuss with you."

The two surgeons watched him disappear into the rainy darkness, then turned to each other.

Pierce gave his companion a questioning look.

Hunnicutt looked rather lost and shrugged.

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It wasn't easy getting the mud from between his toes, but Captain Hunnicutt somehow managed to get dried and dressed and over to his C.O.'s office in 4 minutes and 47 seconds flat. His 'civies' were the only completely dry clothes he could find. So, he stood in front of Potter's desk, wearing his cleanest dirty sweatshirt and his least wrinkled jeans, drying his rain-soaked head with a towel.

Potter strolled in, sporting a clean, fresh uniform, and acted startled to see him standing there. "Sit down," he wearily suggested, and they both collapsed exhaustedly onto some chairs. The Colonel pulled the top drawer of his desk open. "Do you know what this is?"

Hunnicutt stopped drying his hair and examined the nearly filled in form. "The stuff dreams are made of," he reverently replied. "An official application for an honorable discharge from the United States Army."

"Correct," Potter acknowledged, "and if you'll look closely, you'll find everything filled in but the names and dates."

The two men stared solemnly at one another for a few seconds.

"Well," Hunnicutt spoke, at last, "if I may offer the Colonel a suggestion?"

"By all means, " Potter told him. "That's why I asked you here tonight."

B.J. gazed down at the blank line. "How about Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce?"

Potter placed the papers down on his desk. "That's the name I had in mind when I first started this thing," he solemnly admitted. "But I wanted a second opinion. I respect yours. No one knows him better than you do."

Hunnicutt watched as Potter picked up a pen and filled in the rest of the blanks with his suggestion. He was immediately overcome with mixed emotions. B.J. felt ecstatically happy for his friend and, at the same time, miserably sorry for himself. The Colonel was right. No one knew Pierce better than he did. And no one was gonna miss him more than he was.

The Colonel scratched his signature onto the form and then dropped the pen. "I started this that day Captain Newsome suffered his...breakdown...when I saw what can happen to a man when he's pushed beyond the limits of what he can bear..." he stared down at the now completed form. "I should've finished it that same night. But the peace talks got going again and the war started winding down. I was sure we'd all be home by now!"

"We all were, Colonel...especially Hawk. I guess that's why this latest fighting seems to be taking its greatest toll on him. I've been meaning to come to you about this for the past week now, but just never got the chance. Hawkeye just hasn't been himself lately."

"Agreed. And I think you'll agree with me when I say that for him to suddenly just seem to stop 'resisting', as Radar says, is a sure sign that he's reached the limits of how much war he can take."

Hunnicutt nodded.

Potter's eyes flashed with defiance. "I don't care how valuable a surgeon he is! I'm not pushing him beyond those limits! I'm not gonna sit here and let what happened to Newsome happen to Pierce...or any of us, for that matter!"

B.J. gave his C.O. a look of deep respect and admiration. "You'll never know what it means to me to hear you say that, Colonel," he paused. "Thanks for giving a damn," he told him sincerely, "a damn sight more than we deserve."

Potter returned the look. "Oh...I don't know. I think we're even along those lines," he corrected. He stared back down at the form, looking kind a' sad. "We're gonna miss him around here. But we'll survive. I know I never thought we could ever get along without Radar. But, thanks to Klinger, we've managed. And we will continue to do so after Pierce is gone." Potter looked up from Hawkeye's discharge papers. "You're his closest friend. I'd appreciate it if you would break the news to him."

Hunnicutt's smile broadened into a grin. "With pleasure, Colonel!"

"Morale is already abysmally low around here. I believe it'll be best for all concerned if we avoid a long, drawn-out goodbye. So I don't want you to tell him until just before his replacement gets here. It'll take a few days."

Hunnicutt was disappointed, but nodded, understandingly. "I only hope I can make it that long," he muttered to himself and suddenly felt terribly sad. "We're so close...we usually can't keep _anything_ from each other..." his words trail off.

Potter gave the hurting fellow a sympathetic glance, and then forced himself to look stern again. "Now, Captain Hunnicutt, shall we head on over to the Mess Tent? They've got some meatballs over there that I'm sure you will enjoy!" His eyes narrowed into menacing slits.

The sorrowful look on B.J.'s face turned to one of abject horror.

"In fact, you will enjoy _three_ helpings of them, " his Commander continued.

Hunnicutt's mouth opened to give voice to his protesting tummy.

"You _will_ enjoy_ three _helpings," the Colonel repeated, in a no nonsense tone.

The Captain closed his mouth and reluctantly started getting to his feet.

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"Colonel, wouldn't a simple apology be more in order?" Hunnicutt suggested, trying desperately to reason with his suddenly unreasonable C.O..

Potter completely ignored the suggestion and ushered his prisoner into the Mess Tent.

Everyone in the room stopped what he or she was doing and turned to the door.

"Ah! There you are, Captain!" Klinger exclaimed and held Hunnicutt's mail out to him.

"I'll take those," Potter said, snatching the letters from the Sergeant's outstretched hand. "These are just the _leverage_ I needed."

Hunnicutt appeared positively shattered. "Colonel! That's...that's cruel and unusual punishment!"

"So was that wisecrack you made about the meatballs," his Commander reminded him.

The people in the room nodded and voiced their agreement.

"The punishment sticks!" the Colonel continued.

The crowd looked both pleased and curious.

"A-and," Potter stated further, "as a little added incentive to guarantee that the sentence is carried out, there will be no dessert–" he waved Hunnicutt's mail in front of his face, "until your tray is clean. Understood?"

B.J. looked even more shattered and disgruntled, but resignedly nodded.

Potter looked pleased. "Goo-ood!" He herded Hunnicutt up to the food line, stuck a tray in his hands and then personally dished him up three heaping helpings of meatballs.

The other diners shrieked with delight.

B.J. saw that everybody was obviously finding the whole affair highly entertaining and decided he may as well make the most of it and join them. So, he turned his sensitive nose aside and tried not to watch. "Excuse me, Colonel, but aren't the condemned usually blindfolded first?"

"I don't care **how** you enjoy your meatballs, Hunnicutt," his Colonel came back, "just so long as you **do** enjoy them. All three servings of them," Potter repeated for the third time in as many minutes.

"And we'll all enjoy_ watching_ you enjoy them!" Margaret declared with a devious grin.

Potter saw the amused expressions on the faces of the folks gathered around them. "All right! As you were, people!" he ordered, sternly. "This wasn't meant to be a public execution. Anyone found getting too much enjoyment out of this will be handed a tray and made to join the Captain here!" His eyes narrowed. "Understood?"

His audience nodded, reluctantly.

"Goo-ood!" Potter turned back to the Captain and passed him a knife and fork. "That empty table in the far corner will do nice–" he was interrupted by the loud rumbling of heavy artillery fire, "–ly. Klinger, I want you to raise I-Corp for me," he announced suddenly and turned to leave.

"Wait, Colonel!" Hunnicutt called after him. "I believe I'm entitled to a last request..."

Potter reluctantly turned back to the Captain. "It sticks!" he repeated, for the final time.

B.J. looked a bit queasy and swallowed hard. "That's what I'm afraid of," he muttered nervously. "And that's why I'd appreciate it if someone would go over to the Swamp and ask Hawkeye to bring me a little something to help wash it down with."

"That's a reasonable request," Potter admitted. "I'm sure the Major, here would be glad to tell him," he added, and stared Charles coolly right in the eyes. "Wouldn't you, Winchester!"

The Major opened his mouth to protest, but then saw the Colonel's eyes beginning to narrow and decided to honor his and the Captain's wishes.

The Captain appeared somewhat relieved and headed for the empty table in the far corner of the room.

Potter watched him drop his tray and himself down at the table. "Bon appetite!" he wished, before stepping back out into the rain.

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The Mess Tent door opened and a small brown and white mongrel dog came trotting in out of the rain.

Captain Pierce followed him in, carrying two cocktail glasses and a jar of olives. He glanced around the room, spotted B.J. in the far corner and then turned to look for the dog.

The beast had stopped–right at the feet of Major Houlahan–to shake the rain from its sopping wet fur.

Margaret grimaced and let out a shriek of disgust, as water droplets flew everywhere.

"This way, dummy," Hawkeye corrected.

Margaret stared down at the soggy doggy, saw the two-quart jug strapped to its neck and looked even more disgusted. "Get that animal out of here, this instant!"

"Can't," Pierce regrettably replied. "Bernard here, is a real saint and he can't leave in the middle of a rescue." He whistled.

The dog's ears perked up and it followed the whistling over to the table in the far corner of the room.

B.J. gave his buddy a warm welcome. "Hawk! Am I glad to see you! And you, too!" he told the jug-toting mutt, and gave Bernard an affectionate pat on the head. He studied the dog for a few moments then shot his fellow Captain a questioning look.

Hawkeye dropped down onto the bench across from his bunkmate and smugly explained, "He got you into this mess. I figured he should get you out."

B.J. flashed his best friend a grin and started unfastening the cord holding the jug in place.

Hawkeye stared down at B.J.'s tray in disbelief. "I know we sometimes call ourselves _meatball_ surgeons...but, this is ridiculous! He doesn't really expect you to eat all those?" he inquired, hopefully.

B.J. gazed distastefully down at his tray and nodded, glumly.

Pierce was astounded. "Are you?"

"If I ever wanna see my mail, I are. He's holding Peg's letters hostage."

"You're kidding!" Hawkeye saw B.J.'s solemn expression. "You're not kidding," he suddenly realized and his look of astonishment turned to one of outrage. He set the glasses down and snatched the two-quart jug from his solemn associate. "I think we both could use a drink."

Hunnicutt watched as his bartender-buddy mixed them both a martini. "None for me, thanks," he said, seeing him reaching for the jar of olives. "I have enough little brown round things to last me awhile."

Hawkeye flashed his friend a sympathetic smile and then handed him his olive-less drink.

Hunnicutt gave Pierce a grateful grin and then waited for him to pick his glass up before taking a sip from his own. "M-m-m, just what I needed to wet my appetite," he lightly remarked, but then found himself staring across at his friend through blurring eyes. 'How am I ever gonna make it around here without you?' he silently wondered.

Hawkeye saw the look and sensed something was wrong. "What is it, BeeJ? Is it the letters? Maybe I oughtta go talk to Potter," he suggested and started getting to his feet.

"No!" Hunnicutt latched onto his friend's wrist. Their eyes met again. B.J. caught Hawkeye's extremely concerned expression and forced a smile. "I'd sort a' like you to stick around awhile. That is, if you don't have any other plans?"

Pierce sank slowly back down onto the bench and then sat there, studying his friend carefully. "No. No. I don't have any other plans. Klinger can't get through to Radar, and I suddenly don't feel very sleepy. Beej, what's wrong?" he anxiously inquired, and stared down the hand that was still gripping his wrist.

B.J. followed his friend's gaze and was somewhat surprised, and embarrassed, to discover he was still holding on. He couldn't seem to let go. His heart–not his hand–was finding it too painful to let go. "Nothing!" he nonchalantly replied, er, lied. He released his grip and quickly snatched his hand back. "It's just that I could use the company," he added, motioning to the empty benches around him. He spotted the dog staring ravenously up at his tray. "You and me both, pal!" B.J. assured the mutt, as it barked and pleaded for a handout with eager, bright eyes.

"Don't get any ideas," Margaret coolly advised. "And get flea-infested 'Fido' out of here, before he contaminates the food!"

Hunnicutt saw his mates staring amusedly at him from across the room. He gave them a forced smile and a guilty wave.

They glanced at each other and grinned.

B.J. turned back to the dog. "Sorry, Bernie. Now, if it were up to _me_..."

The dog barked again and cocked his head. Its eyes remain riveted on the tray.

"Get him out!" Houlahan impatiently repeated.

"Rest assured, Margaret," Hawkeye replied, keeping his worried stare locked on his oddly behaving bunky, "there is nothing, I repeat, nothing this poor little doggy could 'do do' that might 'contaminate' these things any more than they already are."

The Major remained unconvinced. "They may be a little dried out, but they are certainly not contaminated!"

"A little dried out?" Pierce sarcastically repeated. He took one of the items in question and tossed it up in the air.

The object landed with an unappetizing 'clunk', bounced several times and then went rolling off the end of the table.

Bernie, who'd been following its path of trajectory, caught the petrified ball of meat before it hit the floorboards.

The crowd chuckled and cheered.

B.J. studied the animal carefully a full ten seconds and when it was still on its feet and wagging its tail at the end of that time, he took a long swig of liquid courage, and then set his glass down to, reluctantly, pick up his knife and fork. The Captain took a half-hearted stab at one of the many little brown round things on his tray. The fork prongs just glanced off the slippery sucker, sending it rolling off the tray...across the table...and into the waiting jaws of good ole Bernie.

The dog inhaled it, as well, and barked for more.

B.J. tried sawing another one in half, but his knife just kept sliding off to one side. He gasped in frustration and rested his wrists on the edge of the table. "I'll say one thing. When the Colonel called this **solid** food, he definitely knew what he was talking about."

His audience grinned and snickered.

"Go ahead, BeeJ," Hawkeye told him, "rack 'em up! I'll get the cue sticks."

Hunnicutt found the thought of meatball billiards most amusing. "The Colonel did say that he didn't care _how_ I enjoyed them."

"Don't you dare!" Margaret warned.

B.J. stared glumly down at his three helpings of now cold meatballs. "I was hoping, if I could stall long enough, that a miracle might save me. I might get a reprieve from the Governor or–" he stopped talking as Klinger came stomping in out of the rain.

"Colonel Potter wants to see Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt and Majors Houlahan and Winchester in his office right away!" he breathlessly announced.

Hawkeye turned to his pouting pal. "Will a reprieve from the Colonel do?"

B.J. looked positively ecstatic, but then sobered again. "Is this a full pardon...or just a temporary stay of execution?" he cautiously pondered.

"How should I know?" Klinger replied. "Just c'mon, will yahs!"

The officers got to their feet and began taking their leave.

B.J. turned back, slid his tray from the table and set it down in front of the dog. "Bon appetite!" the Captain wished sincerely, and then went racing off, to catch up with the others.

End of Chapter Two


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The four summoned officers entered Potter's office and found a fifth officer already standing in front of the Colonel's desk–an Army Lieutenant in combat fatigues, looking very much like he was suffering from combat fatigue. His rifle and soggy rain parka were draped over one arm. His dripping helmet rested under his other. The man's rugged, unshaven face showed deep lines of constant strain and there was a bone-weary slump to his broad shoulders.

Potter quickly introduced them to Lieutenant Ronald Ames and told the very serious, solemn-looking young man to tell them what Potter has just told him. The Colonel then disappeared out the door with Sergeant Klinger.

The medical staffers watched their C.O. leave the room, then they turned back to the Lieutenant, looking more than a little puzzled and curious.

The young officer drew a long exhausted breath and exhaled it slowly. "I'm sure all of you are aware that the Chinese Communists have been aiding the North Korean Communists for the past several months now."

His audience nodded grimly.

"Well, for some unknown reason, they've suddenly decided to change rolls. Intelligence reports have it that a large contingency of Chinese troops has recently crossed the border and is heading South to engage the majority of U.N. forces in combat–"

Pierce interrupted him with a curse.

Hawkeye's companions looked terribly discouraged and disappointed and glanced solemnly at one another.

"As it stands now," the Lieutenant continued, "it's gonna take a few days to assemble enough U.N. troops to be able to launch an adequate counter-offensive. Our guys have been ordered to pull back, regroup, dig in and wait for British and Turkish reinforcements," he paused. "Since the Chinese Commies are meeting with little or no resistance, they are advancing rapidly," he hesitated. "And this MASH Unit is right in their path," he hesitated again and stared the foursome solemnly in the eyes. "Their lead invasion forces are less than two miles north of here."

The two Captains and the two Majors stared solemnly back at him, first in shock, then in disbelief, and then began venting their anger and outrage at him.

Lieutenant Ames grimaced and held his hands up in surrender. "Please...Plea-ease? Let me finish," he requested.

The angry group calmed down...some.

"Your Colonel Potter was just on the horn to I-Corp. Now, I don't know the details. But, by some mind-boggling _blunder_ on their part, I-Corp failed to issue you guys the order to bug-out of here." The young officer suddenly looked even more grave and solemn. "My men and I are going to stick around and try to buy you some time to get your _show _on the road." He looked them squarely in the eyes again. "We'd appreciate it if you would try to make yourselves a little more _mobile _than usual."

His fellow officers nodded, reassuringly.

Their visitor pulled his parka back on and started heading for the door, "I gotta get back to my unit now," he glanced back over his shoulder. "God speed!"

"Lieutenant, " Pierce called after him.

The soldier stopped and glanced back at the Captain.

"Thank you."

The others nodded and added their thanks as well.

The young Lieutenant's eyes locked on theirs one last time and he flashed his fellow officers a 'you're welcome' smile. Then he donned his helmet and disappeared.

"We can EVAC the wounded in the backs of the equipment trucks," Margaret determined, on her way to the door.

The doctors nodded and followed her back out into the rain.

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The foursome found the Colonel addressing the rest of the troops in the Mess tent.

"You all know what to do," Potter was telling his people. "Just try to remember to do it a whole lot faster. The cow pasty is about to hit the fan out there and if we don't wanna end up wearing any of it, we've gotta skidaddle out of here–pronto! And, if you don't stop yakking and start packing, we won't just be _treating_ the casualties, we'll **be** the casualties!"

Everybody stopped talking.

Their Commander looked pleased and continued, "Because of limited time and space, only absolute essentials are going with us. That means that each one of us takes only what personal belongings we can carry on our backs and in our hands."

People began opening their mouths to protest.

"And, before you start arguing about it, let me remind you that a handful of very brave men are on the other side of that hill over there," he pointed towards the sound of automatic rifle fire, "buying us the time we need to get out of here. And, if we waste any of that precious time, it may cost some of them their lives!"

He turned to his staff. "Klinger, you're in charge of all _essential_ paperwork! Hunnicutt, _essential_ surgical wares! Winchester, _essential_ medicines and medical supplies! Pierce, you and Houlahan EVAC the wounded! Now, take what help you'll need and let's move it, people!"

They did.

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The rain cooperated, by slacking off some, and the potentially chaotic bug-out proceeded with speed and efficiency.

Colonel Potter scurried from operation to operation pointing out the crucial differences between essential and non-essential items, and, in no time, the first trucks loaded with wounded and camp personnel were ready to pull out.

Potter handed Captain Hunnicutt one of a pair of walkie-talkies and advised him to use it to contact Lieutenant Ames, and to keep in touch with his Colonel. Not wishing to linger a second longer, Potter then took off in a jeep, leading the already loaded vehicles out of camp and onto the mud-slick road leading south.

Pierce, Winchester and Hunnicutt were to supervise the final loading operations and then notify Ames before bringing up the rear of the convoy.

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B.J. was crossing the compound, when he heard an engine racing. He turned around in time to watch a jeep come sliding to a halt in the muddy yard in front of the now deserted Post-Op. He dropped what he was doing and hurried over to investigate.

"Medic!" the jeep's driver plaintively called out and tried to prop up the guy slumped in the seat beside him. "Medic!"

"What happened?" B.J. demanded, gripping the passenger's shoulders and straightening him up. He recognized the young man's rugged, unshaven face and went sort a' numb.

"The Lieutenant took one in the chest, sir!" the Private quickly explained. "Please...you gotta help him!"

B.J. fought off the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and forced himself to tear the Lieutenant's shirt open to examine the wound. The numbness and the sick feeling returned. "Let's get him inside!"

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"What is it?" Winchester asked, as Hunnicutt and an unknown soldier came into the O.R., carrying a body.

"The Lieutenant took a bullet to the chest," B.J. solemnly replied, as they laid the soldier's limp body on one of the rooms many tables.

Winchester winced and then stepped up to examine the Lieutenant's wound. The Major winced again. "I'll have to operate immediately, if I'm going to save him."

Hunnicutt stared wonderingly up at his associate. "I'll get the equipment!" he volunteered and went dashing off.

Charles finished his initial examination and then hurried off, himself...to scrub.

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"Didn't you hear me, Charles?" Hawkeye followed Winchester into the O.R.. "I said we can't stay here!"

"We do not have to," Charles reminded him. "You may leave, if you wish."

"I'll assist you," Margaret volunteered as she came into the room, carrying several fresh surgical gowns and masks. "It'll save time." She helped Winchester into a gown and mask, before slipping into some herself.

Hawkeye gasped in exasperation. "All right, if you won't think of yourselves, at least think of those guys on the other side of that hill out there. The longer we stay, the greater their chances are of ending up like the Lieutenant, here!"

The young Private standing at Lieutenant Ames' side looked up. "They knew what they were getting themselves into when they sent me down here, Captain." He stared sadly back down at the unconscious, critically injured man on the operating table. "The Lieutenant refused to allow us to waste time on him. But, once he passed out, the decision became ours, and we made it," he paused, as the ominous sounds of battle suddenly intensified. "And we didn't make it lightly," he assured the concerned Captain.

Pierce gave the young Private a look that told him he understood and turned back to Winchester. "Okay, you win, Charles. But the last truck is just about to pull out, leaving us with one _small_ jeep."

"We have two trucks and a jeep with us, sir," the Private informed him. "The guys plan to pick me and the Lieutenant up as they pull back. Then, we're gonna try to catch up to and join your convoy."

Margaret finished taking the Lieutenant's vital signs. "Blood pressure's really dropping. We'd better hurry!"

Winchester finished cleaning and examining the wound. "I suspect he is bleeding heavily into the lower chest cavity." He glanced around the stripped O.R. and frowned. "Margaret, see what you can do about jury-rigging some sort of suction up, will you?"

"Right away, Doctor."

"If you are going to remain in here," Charles told the Private standing at his patient's side, "please put on a mask."

The young man did.

Winchester stared down at his dying patient, feeling very helpless and frustrated. "Where is that idiot with my instruments?"

"You rang, Charles?" Hunnicutt sarcastically replied, as he came staggering into the room, carrying two heaping armfuls of surgical paraphernalia.

Winchester was extremely relieved to see him and the gear. "Where have you been?" he demanded.

B.J. dropped his treasures onto the nearest flat surface and pulled off his dripping rain parka. "Flagging down trucks in six inches of mud," he answered smartly and began setting things up.

Hawkeye took it upon himself to get their patient's IV established.

The Major remained unappeased. "What took you so long?"

"I think I showed amazing speed actually...considering how everything was thrown in in such perfect order," he added, sarcastically and continued lying out and sterilizing the instruments. "We gonna need an anesthetic?"

"I certainly hope not," Charles answered, sliding a pair of sterile surgical gloves on his freshly scrubbed hands, "because I seriously doubt that he could tolerate one."

"I certainly hope not, too," B.J. muttered, "because I couldn't find where you hid it." He dunked his last instrument into the basin of alcohol and set it on a sterile towel with the rest.

Pierce got their patient's IV flowing and handed the Private an inverted plasma bottle. "Keep this above his wrist," he requested.

"How much plasma do we have?" Winchester wondered, as he set about re-inflating the Lieutenant's collapsed left lung.

"Two," B.J. answered, tying a mask in place. "And be grateful I brought that," he warned. "I had to dig through three feet of crushed ice to get 'em." He slipped his alcohol-drenched hands into some gloves and began assisting the hard to please Major.

The Private stared sadly down at his C.O. and softly inquired, "What are his chances, Doc?"

"If someone else were to perform the surgery," Charles began, "I would say extremely poor. However, and I might add, fortunately for the Lieutenant, here, thoracic surgery happens to be my specialty. How is the suction coming, Margaret?"

"It's coming, Doctor! It'll only be a minute!"

"Tie that off for me, will you," Charles requested of his colleague, before resuming his conversation with the Private. "At no time does my surgical expertise shine more brilliantly than when I am working in the chest."

Pierce and Hunnicutt glanced at one another and rolled their eyes.

"Margaret, I'm working blind without that suction!"

The nurse came racing into the room and up to the table, with a four-foot section of small hose and the bulb from a blood-pressure gauge.

The three doctors stared at her improvised suction, looking duly impressed.

The woman completely ignored them and went straight to work.

"Does the Colonel know what's going on here?" Hawkeye curiously inquired, seeing their walkie-talkie resting on the table beside him.

B.J. nodded. "He overheard me talking to this guy's buddies."

Pierce looked even more curious. "Well?"

B.J. shot him a questioning glance.

"What did Potter say?"

"I'm not sure," B.J. lied. "There was a sudden, inexplicable burst of static and it drowned him right out."

His colleagues' eyes sparkled with amusement.

The Private looked a bit curious, himself. "What did the guys have to say?"

"They said they'd hold 'em off as long as they possibly could and then they'd be along to pick you and the Lieutenant up. I definitely got the impression that the Lieutenant, here, is somebody very special to them."

"Lieutenant Ames has been our C.O. for as long as we've been in Korea," the Private explained, looking and sounding very sad. "He's saved all our butts, at one time or another. Let's just say we feel we owe him this one...and leave it at that."

B.J. gave the young Private a sympathetic glance and then grabbed a retractor. "Nice work, Charles," he sincerely said, and then glanced back up at the Private. "Now, if we could only get him to work this fast all the time," he teased.

Winchester ignored the Captain's comments.

Hawkeye watched the two capable surgeons who were trying to repair the Lieutenant's chest...and the very capable nurse assisting them, and suddenly felt sort a' superfluous. "I can always tell when I'm not needed," he muttered lightly and turned to leave. "I'm going over to the Swamp to grab a few things," he informed his bunkmates.

But, they were so preoccupied, they failed to hear him.

"I'm leaving now," Pierce announced. Nobody said anything, so he exited the O.R..

B.J. glanced up a few minutes later and spotted their patient's nearly drained plasma bottle. "Hawk, you wanna hang that last unit?" No response. "Hawk?" he repeated and glanced around the room. His friend was nowhere in sight. "Now where could he have disappeared to?" he muttered to himself and went back to work.

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Hawkeye returned several hectic minutes later, cringing at the sound of rifle fire. Close rifle fire...too close. "I hate to be a nag," he told his busy associates, "but the wolf is almost at the door! C'mon, Charles, forget fancy and think fast!"

They heard the sound of engines whining out in the yard.

"Correction. The wolf **is** at the door!" Hawkeye watched them working frantically to close and decided to help them get the Lieutenant ready to EVAC. "The jeep is packed and waiting," he added, as an afterthought.

B.J. glanced up for the first time, saw his friend standing there and smiled behind his mask. "Looks like you've put every shirt you own on your back."

"Nah," Hawkeye corrected. "Just my very favorites. I packed a few things for you and Charles while I was at it."

B.J. shot him a grateful glance. "That was thoughtful of you."

"Yes it was," Pierce immodestly admitted. "I grabbed your spinning rod and that box of pictures and letters that you keep under your bed."

Hunnicutt shot him another grateful glance, then suddenly remembered something. "My letters! Look, can you guys handle it from here? I gotta go get my mail!" The Captain pulled his mask and gloves off. Then he snatched up their radio and his soggy rain parka and started heading for the door.

"Forget the letters, BeeJ!" Hawkeye advised. "There's no time!"

"Should only take a minute!" Hunnicutt assured him and disappeared.

A truck horn sounded from just outside the door, along with more automatic rifle fire and grenade explosions.

"You hear that, Charles?" Pierce wondered. "That is the sound of retreat!"

Winchester secured his last suture and then stepped back from the table for a breather. "Wrap that up for me, will you, Margaret?"

The nurse nodded and began bandaging the Lieutenant's chest.

The surgeon sighed in relief and pulled his sweat-soaked mask down. "Well, Private, the truck ride isn't going to do your Lieutenant here any good. But it shouldn't do him too much harm, either. I put in traveling sutures, just for the occasion. A-and, I am fairly confident he **is** going to make it."

The Private pulled his mask down, revealing his broad grin. "Thank you, Doctor! Thank all of you!" he added, giving them all a look of undying gratitude.

"Au contraire," Winchester told him. "It is I who should be thanking you and your friends out there. None of us would've made it out of here if it weren't for you. I was merely returning the fa–"

"–Stop your mouth and start your feet," Pierce advised, as he and the Private picked up the Lieutenant's stretcher and started carting him from the room.

Margaret tagged along, carrying their surgical gear and the nearly drained last bottle of plasma.

Charles took the advice and beat them to door.

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"How is he, Benson?" a worried looking soldier asked, as they carefully loaded the critically injured man into the back of an already crowded troop carrier.

Benson grinned. "The Doc thinks he's gonna make it!"

The men returned his grin and let out several whoops of delight.

"I'll ride with him," Margaret volunteered, and scrambled up into the back of the truck with the Lieutenant's stretcher.

The vehicle immediately began moving.

"See you guys down the road!" Pierce called after it, and started heading off, himself. "Charles! Give me a hand with the generator!"

"Captain! The Commies are right on our tail!" a second truck's driver informed him. "We gotta go _right now_!"

"We're right behind you!" Pierce shouted back, over his shoulder.

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B.J. shuffled frantically through the mountain of papers Klinger had dumped on the Colonel's desk, while searching for _essential_ material. At last, he found the packet of stamped envelopes he'd been looking for. And just in time, too, because the lights suddenly went out, leaving him in total darkness. The Captain stuck the letters in his helmet. Then he stashed it back on his head and began blindly groping his way back over to the office's exit.

Pierce and Winchester drove up to the Colonel's office, towing the camp's portable generator behind their jeep.

"Quick! Get in!" Hawkeye shouted, sounding a bit panic-stricken.

B.J. climbed aboard and they sped off after the two troop transports and a second jeep.

"I must get something from our tent!" Winchester shouted, as they began heading south, out of camp.

"I told you," Pierce reminded the Major. "I packed a little something for all of us!"

"My medical bag?" Charles anxiously inquired. "You grabbed my medical bag?" he hopefully repeated.

"I grabbed your favorite record album, your favorite book of poetry, that little locked box that your keep in your footlocker and a bottle of your favorite wine," Pierce shouted, over the roar of their jeep's engine. "But, I did not think to grab your medical bag. I'm sorry," he said sincerely, and continued to drive on. It started pouring again. "Oh, great!" the jeep's driver stated sarcastically. "Just what we needed!"

"I must have my medical bag!" Winchester determined. "If you won't turn back, then stop and let me off. I'll go back and get it myself. My grandfather gave me that medical bag when I graduated from Harvard...just before he died. It means a great deal to me and I cannot let it fall into the hands of those Chinese savages!"

"I understand how you must feel, Charles," Hawkeye assured him. "But, _you_ mean a great deal to _us_, and we cannot let _you_ fall into the hands of those Chinese savages!"

B.J. placed a hand on the Major's slumped shoulder. "Hawk's right! We've grown rather fond of you in the past few months, Charles. And to show you how much we appreciate what you did for the Lieutenant back there, we take back half of the nasty things we ever said about you."

Winchester ignored them both. "That was not a request, Captain! That was an order!"

The two Captains found the Major's attempt to pull rank on them most amusing.

"I made a vow, a few years back, to disobey any–and all–stupid orders, Major! And, it would be beyond stupid, to let you go back there! The place is probably crawling with commies, by now!" Pierce pointed out. "So, why don't you just sit back, relax and enjoy the ride."

The rain picked up and Hawkeye had to slow down and stare out through squinting eyes to see where the hell they were headed.

They hit a particularly muddy stretch of deep ruts and slowed down even more.

Winchester took the opportunity to jump out of the jeep.

"That idiot!" B.J. shouted and spun around in his seat. "Charles, come back!"

But, the rain and darkness had already swallowed the unbelievably stubborn man up.

Pierce cursed but couldn't stop, for fear of getting bogged down in the deep mud. They would have to drive on until the roadbed improved.

They hit a fairly stable stretch of roadway and Hawkeye ground the jeep to a halt. The two Captains sat there, in the heavy downpour, doubling every nasty thing they'd ever said about Major Charles Emerson Winchester...the III.

"What's gotten into him?" Hunnicutt angrily demanded. "He's usually so level-headed!"

Hawkeye suddenly realized something and his anger left him. "I guess I underestimated what that gift from his grandfather meant to him," he admitted softly.

B.J. managed a resigned sigh. "We both did."

"He values it more than his own life."

"He values it more than all our lives," B.J. contributed, his irritation returning. "C'mon, give me a hand with this thing," he requested, climbing out the back of the jeep to disconnect the generator's trailer hitch.

The already completely exhausted physicians managed, somehow, to get the heavy generator shoved off to the side enough to allow them to pass.

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Pierce backed the jeep up and they encountered an extremely soggy, panting Major Winchester less than a half mile from their now-deserted camp.

"I must get my medical bag!" Charles stubbornly determined and seemed surprised when his companions didn't make any attempts to jump out of the jeep and stop him.

"Just be quick about it!" Hawkeye annoyedly urged.

The Major was even more amazed and nodded, numbly.

"Careful, Charles!" B.J. quietly called after him. "The place must be crawling with Chinese, by now."

Winchester glanced back and gave them one last nod before disappearing into the rain and darkness again.

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The Major returned, several anxious minutes later, all out of breath, but sporting a triumphant smile–and his medical bag. "Let's get out of here!" he earnestly suggested and Pierce drove off as he climbed aboard. Charles got himself–and his medical bag–situated in the back seat, before replying to any of his companions' questions. "Yes, I saw them," he answered breathlessly. "About thirty or forty of them!"

The two Captains glanced at each other, looking amazed.

"They were in the Mess tent," Winchester explained, between gasps, "guzzling that putrid black elixir that passes for coffee," he grinned, "and wolfing down lumpy mashed potatoes and petrified meatballs."

The two Captains glanced at each other and grinned, as well.

The Major managed an amused snort. "I dare say, that is bound to put them out of commission for quite some time!"

The two Captains' grins broadened.

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They picked the generator back up and then drove on through the rain and mud for several more miles before coming to a crossroads.

Pierce stopped the jeep and he and Hunnicutt jumped out to examine the roads. They found deep ruts in them both. But the heavy rains had washed away any signs of fresh travel.

"Call Potter and ask him if we're supposed to turn right or left," Hawkeye calmly suggested.

B.J. nodded and then suddenly froze, remembering something...something he wished he hadn't a' forgotten.

"What's the matter?" Pierce nervously inquired. "There's nothing _really_ wrong with the radio?"

"It works fine," Hunnicutt assured him. "The lights went out while I was in Potter's office getting my letters..."

"You didn't forget the radio?" Hawkeye stated, hopefully.

"I'm sorry...I didn't see it sitting there in the dark."

Hawkeye gasped in utter disbelief and frustration. But, miraculously, managed to keep his mouth shut. He realized that his friend hadn't heard from his wife and daughter in over three weeks. B.J. was understandably anxious to get Peg's letters. And, it was dark. Pierce gasped again and started looking around. "They should've marked it!" he rationalized. "Or at least left us a compass!"

They couldn't see the stake and mud-covered white towel lying at the side of the turnoff to the road to their left. The last vehicle to pass that way had come a little too close and knocked it over, half-burying the marker in the tall grass and mud.

Pierce squinted out through the dim glow of the jeep's narrow headlights and the rain. "Anybody got any suggestions?"

Charles shoved Hunnicutt's fishing rod out of his way and leaned forward in his soggy seat. "Yes. I suggest we go either right...or left."

"Why didn't we think of that?" Hawkeye asked, turning to B.J..

But, Hunnicutt was gone.

"BeeJ?" Pierce anxiously called out.

"Over here!" Hunnicutt called back from a clump of trees just off the road to their right.

Hawkeye exhaled a huge sigh of relief. "Are you answering the call of nature?" he curiously inquired and stood there, squinting out through the steady stream of raindrops dripping from his helmet.

"I'm looking for a mossy tree," his invisible friend informed him.

"BeeJ, there is no scientific proof to that!"

"I found one!" Hunnicutt suddenly exclaimed.

There followed several silent moments.

Then B.J. reappeared and climbed wordlessly back into the jeep.

Hawkeye climbed back in behind the wheel and then sat there, waiting expectantly. "What did you find?" he finally asked his silent associate.

"You were right. It doesn't work."

Pierce's curiosity remained unsatisfied. "Why? What side was the moss growing on?"

"All of them. It was growing all around the tree. Which means Korea has either shifted to the North Pole...or it doesn't work. It doesn't work." B.J. repeated and slid a coin from his pocket. "Heads left, tails right," he announced and tossed the coin in the air. He caught it, flipped it onto the back of his hand and uncovered it.

"Well?"

"I can't see." B.J. climbed back out, stepped up to the front of the jeep and held his hand up to one of their headlights. The Captain pocketed his coin and quickly climbed back into the front passenger's seat. "Right!"

"Right?"

"Right!"

Wro-ong!

End Of Chapter Three


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

"Hold it, Hawk!" Hunnicutt shouted, several miles and several million raindrops later.

Pierce hit the brakes. "What! What is it!"

"A river!" B.J. exclaimed, jumping from the vehicle.

Winchester gave their driver's back an annoyed glare and got re-situated in his seat. "Oh boy!" he stated sarcastically. "A river!" He held Hunnicutt's spinning rod up. "Wait! Don't forget this!"

Hawkeye slipped out from behind the wheel and hurried to catch up to his friend. "BeeJ! Wait up! Where are you going?"

"There's only one river in this whole part of Korea," he explained, as they slipped and slid down a muddy embankment. "And it flows in only one direction–to the Southwest!"

Pierce watched as his companion carefully inched his way clear down to the very brink of the river's steep bank. He continued watching as B.J. stooped down and then plunged his hand into the rushing water. "Oh, I get it. A natural compass, right?"

"Right! You could float clear down to Seoul on this thing..." Hunnicutt's words trailed off.

Hawkeye suddenly felt a little nervous–no, extremely nervous. "BeeJ? What's wrong? What is it?"

B.J. slowly straightened back up. "According to the river...we've been traveling in a North, Northeasterly direction since we left the cutoff..." his words trailed off again.

Hawkeye's already numbed brain was numbed even further, by this bit of news. "My god...we must be _miles_ behind the lines," he realized, aloud

The pair stood there, in stunned silence, for a few more panic-filled moments then they turned around and started scrambling back up the slippery slope.

"Back so soon?" Charles queried, still in his best sarcastic fashion. "What's the matter? Weren't they biting?"

The two Captains completely ignored him and quickly piled back into the jeep.

Winchester suddenly felt a bit nervous, himself. "What is the matter?" he repeated, this time sounding sincere.

Pierce's only reply was to turn their jeep around and then head off, in the direction they'd just come from, at a rather high rate of speed.

A knot suddenly formed in the pit of the Major's empty stomach. "Don't tell me we've been..." he allowed his words to trail off.

The two Captains honored his request and remained silent.

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Margaret braced herself, as the truck suddenly lurched. The woman stiffened as her patient suddenly stiffened and let out an agonizing groan. "Pass me that knapsack at your feet," she requested of the private sitting beside her.

He did.

The woman flipped the satchel open and started rummaging through its contents. She discovered a little flashlight and then used it to locate a bottle of morphine, a syringe, some alcohol and a box of cotton swabs. 'Good ole B.J.,' she silently mused. 'No wonder it took him so long to get back.' The Captain had thought of _everything_. She filled the syringe with morphine and pulled the blankets back from her groaning patient, to reveal his left wrist. She dipped one of the swabs in alcohol and used it to sterilize the tip of the IV port. "Easy, soldier," the nurse comforted, as she slowly emptied the syringe's contents into a vein in the Lieutenant's left arm. "I'm giving you something for the pai–" Margaret braced herself once more, as the truck hit another deep rut and lurched again.

Her patient stiffened again and let out an involuntary cry.

The woman winced and reached for the Lieutenant's clenched left fist. "It won't be long now," she soothingly assured him. The nurse pried the patient's fingers open and placed his hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Hang on, Lieutenant.," she urged.

The young officer gripped her hand firmly, in return.

Margaret felt the lumbering vehicle slowing to a stop.

A few seconds later, the canvas flap on the back of the truck was lifted and the silhouette of a man's helmeted head appeared. "Margaret?" a familiar voice called out. "Are you in there?"

"Yes, Colonel," the Major answered, and exhaled a sigh of relief. The sound of Potter's voice caused her to feel a bit more at ease..

Potter was equally relieved to hear her voice. "What about the Three Stooges?" he annoyedly inquired.

Margaret was forced to smile. "No, sir. They're behind us...in a jeep...towing the generator."

"Thank god!" her commander exclaimed. "I was beginning to get a little nervous when we couldn't raise them on the radio."

"I seem to recall Captain Hunnicutt mentioning that he was having some sort of trouble with it," she truthfully admitted.

Potter seemed surprised to hear this. He hadn't really believed B.J. . He suddenly remembered something else. "How's the Lieutenant?"

"I'm...okay, Colonel," Ames replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

His comment caused the Colonel to smile. "Glad to hear it, son. Take good care of him, Major," he affectionately added. Then the canvas flap fell and he was gone.

Margaret smiled sadly down at her patient. "I will, sir," she quietly vowed, and gave the Lt.'s hand another reassuring squeeze.

The truck lurched again and they drove on.

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Colonel Potter and Sgt. Klinger stood, waiting patiently at the side of the road, as first another troop transport truck and then a single jeep came grinding up. The jeep was loaded with sleeping soldiers instead of doctors and it was not towing a generator. Yet it appeared to be the last vehicle in the convoy. They flagged it down.

"Sergeant, is there another jeep behind you!" Potter inquired of the driver.

"Yes, sir," the soldier assured him. He turned and stared off into the pitch blackness behind them. "At least, there was the last time I looked..." he uncertainly added.

The Colonel gazed down the dark, deserted road, praying to catch a glimpse of bobbing headlights approaching. But, several minutes passed...and no narrow beams of light appeared. Potter's spirits fell and his temper rose. "Exactly when was the _last time you_ _looked_!"

The Sergeant had to think for a moment. "A couple a' miles before we hit that first turn-off...I think. I'm sorry, sir. I guess I didn't really notice. I was so busy trying to stay awake...trying to keep this thing on the road." The soldier glanced at his dozing companions. "This is the first real sleep they've had in three days." He turned back to the Colonel, "This thing is almost out of gas, sir. But, if you'll let us use your jeep, we could go back and look for them," he volunteered.

One thought kept running through the Colonel's mind...and he didn't like thinking it. He gave the exhausted soldier an appreciative smile. "All right. We'll wait here for you." He turned to Klinger. "Sergeant, pass the word. We're stopping the convoy again."

Klinger nodded and held up his walkietalkie.

"Look alive, ladies!" the Sergeant taunted his motionless men. "C'mon! Snap to it! We're trading jeeps!"

The men moaned and groaned and reluctantly began exiting their vehicle..

"We have wounded with us," the Colonel reminded them, "and they can't wait in the backs of those trucks all night. So don't go too far." He patted the Sergeant's walkie-talkie, "And keep me posted," he strongly advised. "I want to hear from you every five minutes, understood?"

"Yes, sir," the Sergeant acknowledged, with a snappy salute.

Potter watched as the men–and his jeep– headed off down the road, in the direction they'd just come from.

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Speaking of gas shortages...

Pierce stiffened and tightened his grip on the steering wheel as his jeep's engine began to sputter and they began slowing down.

"What's the matter?" Hunnicutt inquired.

"I don't know." Hawkeye pumped the gas pedal and pulled the choke out, but their jeep's engine just continued to die out.

The three mens' spirits dropped as their speed dropped. The sputtering engine finally conked out entirely and the jeep coasted to an eerie, quiet stop.

Hawkeye tried, several times, to get the stalled vehicle started again. But his efforts were to no avail. He exhaled a gasp of frustration, then slammed the steering wheel with his fist and cursed. "We must be out of gas!" he glumly realized, and then sat there, kicking himself for forgetting to check the gauge before leaving the camp.

Winchester was completely devastated. "Marvelous!" he shouted sarcastically, as his extreme disappointment gave way to anger. "Leave it to you to pick a jeep with a gas tank as empty as your head!"

"That's right, Charles!" Hawkeye shouted right back, sounding equally sarcastic. "Blame me and forget all about the guy who insisted on going back to camp to get his medical bag, so that we would have to go back for him...and then end up getting lost while trying to catch up to the convoy again!"

"And let's not forget the guy who forgot the walkie-talkie we were supposed to use to keep in touch with the Colonel, so we could avoid getting lost in the first place! It's all **my** fault!" B.J. bitterly declared, and then sat there feeling terribly guilty and dejected.

There was a long silence.

His two companions gradually came to realize that they were–all three–at least partly to blame for the predicament they now found themselves in.

"No," Winchester corrected, "no, I'm afraid Pierce is right. I should never have gone ba–"

"–Nah," Hawkeye interrupted. "I should've checked the gas gauge before we left."

Their admissions caused B.J. to feel a tad bit less guilty and miserable.

There followed another long silence.

"C'mon!" Pierce prompted. "Help me get this thing off the road."

Winchester and Hunnicutt climbed wearily out to lend Hawkeye a hand.

The jeep's driver shifted its transmission into neutral. Then he climbed out himself and started cramping the rolling vehicle's wheel hard to the left.

They soon had the thing both off the road and out of sight. B.J. and Charles gathered up their prized possessions.

"Now what?" Winchester glumly wondered.

"No-ow, we start walking," Hawkeye simply said.

"Walking!" the beat-on-his-feet Bostonian found the very idea horrifying. Why, he could barely stand. "Walking where?"

"Back to that crossroads," Hawkeye informed him. "The Colonel must've discovered we were missing, by now. He's probably sent somebody back to look for us."

"But...that must be _miles _from here!" the Major reminded him.

"So...we'll walk real fast."

"Humph! I barely have the strength to stand."

"Then we'll crawl real fast," the Captain corrected and started heading off down muddy, rutty road.

Charles let out a pitiful moan. "My kingdom for a rick-shaw!" he pouted, misquoting Shakespeare.

His companions were forced to smile.

Hunnicutt and Winchester caught up with their leader and the trio kept right on limping, slipping and sliding...in a Southerly direction.

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Speaking of their destination...

Two soldiers came racing up to Colonel Potter's jeep in the dark. "We might as well forget it, Sarge," one of them breathlessly announced. "The commies have roadblocks set up on both the North and the South turnoffs."

The second soldier nodded in agreement. "If they did take the wrong road, they're cut off for sure, now, because we don't have the manpower or machinery to take on an entire regiment."

Their Sergeant uttered a few choice expletives and reluctantly raised the walkie-talkie to his lips.

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Potter jerked, startled as the soldier's voice suddenly spoke his name. He raised his radio and thumbed its the transmit button. "Potter here," he anxiously acknowledged, "go ahead, Sergeant." He and his company clerk listened as the combat veteran explained the situation at the crossroads...and then requested further orders.

The one thought that had been going through the Colonel's head for the past half hour was finally put into words. "If the Chinese don't already have them," he grimly informed Klinger, "it won't be long before they do..." A new, even more horrifying thought wormed its way into his head...the thought that the U.N. had no Prisoner Exchange Agreement with the Chinese. The 4077th's Commander exhaled an oath or two, of his own making, and then raised his radio. "All right, Sergeant. You and your men rejoin the convoy. I-Corps will have to handle it from here."

The Sergeant acknowledge his latest order and then signed off.

Potter passed the walkie-talkie to Klinger. "Get I-Corps for me, will you," he quietly requested, his voice a bit shaky.

Klinger's body had gone completely numb, from the news. It was a while before he could get his mouth to move. "Yes, sir."

The Colonel just continued to stand there, staring sadly off into the darkness...to the North. "God, help them," he prayed aloud..

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Hawkeye cautiously peered up from a rain-filled ditch at the side of the once again deserted road. It appeared that the last of the enemy's troop transport trucks had finally passed. Yes, the only convoy they'd managed to come across turned out to be the wrong one. "Okay. They've gone," he quietly informed the two motionless men sprawled out beside him.

B.J. reluctantly raised his helmeted head.

Charles remained motionless.

Hunnicutt studied the Major's still figure for a moment or two. "I think he fell asleep."

"Well, wake him up. C'mon! We gotta get outta here."

B.J. could feel his helmeted head succumbing to the gravitational pull of the earth. It felt so good to be lying down. He never dreamed cold, damp ground could be so comfortable...

"Bee-eeJ!" Hawkeye gave his half out of it chum a not too gentle shake. "C'mon! Get up!"

Hunnicutt groaned. It took every ounce of his remaining strength just to make it up onto his hands and knees.

Pierce pulled him the rest of the way to his feet and then tried to rouse the soundly sleeping Major.

B.J. stood there on the side of the road, swaying from complete physical exhaustion. "Hawk, we've been walking for hours. Are we gonna walk around North Korea _all night_?"

"We are going to walk around North Korea for as long as it takes us to reach South Korea," Hawkeye staunchly determinedly and hauled Winchester to his unsteady feet. "C'mon, Charles!" he quietly encouraged. "Up and at 'em!".

Winchester groaned. "Go away. Even if I possessed the strength, which I do not, I could not go on. My feet are killing me!"

"If you don't get with it, Charles, they won't be the only ones."

The Major exhaled another pitiful moan and, reluctantly, locked his knees. He somehow managed to take a few staggering steps...backwards. "I've always pictured dying in one's sleep as a rather pleasant way to go," he grumbled, groggily.

His friends were forced to smile.

B.J. retrieved his box of photos and letters and placed it back beneath the protective cover of his rain parka..

Hawkeye stashed Charles' belongings in his arms and then started ushering him and B.J. up out of the ditch.

"When did it stop raining?" Winchester wondered, noticing the lack of precipitation for the first time.

"Who cares!" his companions simultaneously replied.

Charles aimed annoyed glares in their direction and started to pose another question.

"I have a great idea," Pierce suddenly cut in. "Let's see who can be the quietest."

The Major sighed and reluctantly closed his mouth.

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It was awfully dark...and they were awfully tired. And that is probably why none of them noticed the jeep stalled in the middle of the road, until they were almost right on top of it. The trio immediately ground to a halt and then glanced around for someplace to take cover.

Four North Korean soldiers were huddled around a fifth North Korean soldier who was kneeling down, changing their jeep's left rear tire. The North Koreans seemed as startled by the three men's sudden appearance as the three men were by their's. Nobody moved for several seconds. Then there was the unmistakable sound of rifle bolts being rammed into place.

The Americans' hearts momentarily stopped beating..

"Quan san lui nai!" B.J. pleaded in broken Korean. "Kung li maisun!"

This time, the silence was broken by the sound of snickering...then outright laughter. The North Korean soldiers untensed a bit, but still kept their rifles raised and trained on the Americans.

"What did you say to them?" Hawkeye wondered, in a nervous whisper.

Hunnicutt stood there, listening to the laughter and looking a puzzled. "I thought I told them not to shoot...that we were friends," he whispered back.

Winchester was too petrified to even breathe deeply. "What do we do now?" he inquired, softly.

"Well...we're definitely out-manned and out-gunned," Pierce quickly determined. "So, all in favor of an unconditional surrender, .raise you hands. Go ahead, BeeJ, tell 'em we surrender."

B.J. didn't know if he dared. The laughter still hadn't completely died down from his last attempt at Korean. He was much more adept at phrases like: 'How old is the baby?' He was just going to have to improvise. The doctor drew a deep breath in and then tried again. "Uhh, grau won ming...lo?" he added, uncertainly and was rewarded with another round of hearty laughter. "I'm not sure if I'm gaining–or losing–something in the translation." Whatever the case, Hunnicutt very slowly raised his hands into the air, along with his companions.

"At least you've put them in a good mood," Hawkeye rationalized.

One of the North Korean soldiers stomped up to them. "Pi que!"he ordered menacingly, and waved the barrel of his gun right in their faces.

There was no need to translate. The tone of his voice and his unfriendly gesture meant "Shut up!" in any language.

They did.

The bully, who was obviously the group's leader, shouted out a few more orders to his 'comrades'.

Their belongings were confiscated and their bodies were searched thoroughly.

B.J. smiled, inwardly, as the searchers failed to find the little packet of letters he had stashed up under his helmet.

Hawkeye smiled, inwardly, as well, seeing his captors weren't quite sure what to make of the way he was dressed. It was fair to say they'd never seen anyone wearing 12 different shirts all at the same time before.

Winchester frowned, outwardly, seeing his precious medical bag in the grubby little hands of these North Korean savages.

Following the search, the physician's elevated arms were pulled down and wrenched behind their backs. Their wrists were then tied so tightly so as to cut off the circulation to their hands..

If the three of them had been anything but surgeons, B.J. probably wouldn't've disobeyed orders by requesting that their bonds be loosened...just a little. Not only was the good doctor's request denied, but he managed to get a rifle butt in the ribs and another "Pi que!" thrown at him.

Hawkeye was livid.

The head bad guy raised his rifle butt again and stood there, glaring at Pierce and daring him to speak.

The Captain had everything he could do to contain his seething emotions and keep his mouth shut.

B.J. finally got his breath back. The soldiers jerked him back up onto his feet and then started shoving him and the others in the direction of their jeep. Their friend had finished changing the tire.

'Maybe we should look on the bright side,' B.J. reasoned, as the three of them were crammed into the vehicle's back seat. 'At least these guys occasionally exchanged prisoners...'

The jeep started off with a lurch.

Hawkeye was feeling extremely nauseated. He figured it was the North Koreans. They made him wanna throw up! He was beginning to think that they'd've been better off to make a run for it and take their chances at dodging a bullet. Maybe there was some truth to that saying, 'Better dead than Red', after all?

The only redeeming feature about the whole affair, as far as Winchester was concerned, was the dubious fact that they no longer had to walk. The Bostonian wriggled his rapidly numbing fingers and began to pray...fervently.

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The jeep rumbled across a rickety old wooden, one-lane bridge, just up from where they had made their U-Turn. They came to a fork in the road and the driver turned off onto a, for lack of a better descriptive set of nouns, 'cow trail'. They followed this narrow, bumpy, boulder-strewn path until they reached a deserted, bombed-out village. Which, from appearances, the North Korean Army had turned into a temporary command post.

They prisoners were jerked roughly from the back of the jeep, prodded across an open yard and then shoved into a cold, damp, dark hut. The door was slammed and they were left alone in the silent blackness of their makeshift prison. They stood there, quietly, for a few moments and then let out long, loud sighs...of relief.

"Will one of you please remove this cord before my entire career as a surgeon comes to a halt, along with my circulation?" Charles pleaded, pitifully.

Hawkeye used the sound of Winchester's voice to position himself in a way that would enable him to do just that. He stood back-to-back with the Bostonian and fumbled with Winchester's bonds with numb fingers. "Will yah stand still?" he irritatedly requested.

Charles obligingly halted all movement.

"Maybe we should just loosen them a little?" B.J. suggested. "If we remove them entirely they might replace them just as snugly...if not snugger."

Hawkeye hesitated. "You've got a point, BeeJ. How 'bout it, Charles?"

"Remove them, please! I'll take my chances."

Hawkeye returned to his arduous task.

B.J.'s tired eyes strained to adjust to the darkness. They gradually did and he wandered around, checking the place out. "I don't think I'm gonna like this hotel," he announced.. "The bellhops are extremely rude. And, I'll just bet they have _lousy_ room service." He found the small, one-room hut to be completely devoid of both furnishings and furniture. "I get first dibs on the floor."

Winchester exhaled another audible sigh of relief, as the cord, at last, fell free. The surgeon pulled his liberated wrists from behind his back and began massaging life back into his numb appendages. "Thank you, Pierce."

"You're welcome. Now, how about returning the favor?"

Winchester took the hint and went to work on Hawkeye's bonds.

"Just loosen mine, Charles. And I'll let you know when they're comfortable."

Winchester's usually responsive fingers failed to cooperate. It took him forever to get the knot untied. Finally, he got the cord loosened.

"That's fine, Charles," Hawkeye determined, feeling the circulation returning to his wrists. "Now put the knot back."

Easier said than done. Winchester was used to tying complicated, delicate sutures. Now, suddenly, there he was incapable of forming a big, bulky knot. The experience was unnerving. "If I were not so-o-o fatigued, I would probably be scared to death right now."

"Me, too," Pierce admitted.

"Me, three," Hunnicutt confessed.

"It's rather odd, but I am not particularly concerned about anything right now but sleep...blessed sleep." Charles stifled a yawn. "I am simply too tired to care anymore what happens." He stifled another yawn. He finished loosening B.J.'s bonds and slowly started slipping to the dirt floor of their prison. "Too tired," he muttered sleepily. The Major rested his head on his folded arms and dozed off–instantly.

"Me too," Hawkeye mumbled. He dropped to the floor, rolled onto his side, rested his head on Winchester's back and immediately drifted off to sleep.

"Me three," B.J. whispered, softly. The Captain took one last, weary look around. Then he dropped to his knees, sprawled out on the ground and joined them.

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Twenty minutes later, the door to their dismal hut flew open with a forceful kick.

Four North Korean soldiers stomped into the dark room. While two of the men covered the sleeping hostages with their rifles, the other two marched up to the snoring Major and latched onto his arms. They jerked the prisoner roughly to his feet and then half-dragged and half-carried the moaning American from the room. The two soldiers with the rifles backed out into the yard. The door was slammed–again–and re-barred.

Pierce was rudely awakened when his 'pillow' was yanked out from under him.

B.J. was roused by the loud banging of the door.

The two Captains lay there for a few moments, dazed and disoriented. Then grim reality hit them and they struggled quickly to their knees.

"Charles?" Pierce anxiously called out.

No answer.

Hawkeye knelt there, trying to revive the arm he had been sleeping on, "Charles?" he shouted, a bit louder.

Still no response.

B.J. squinted down at the black void where Winchester had been lying. "They must've taken 'im," he grimly reasoned. "What do you suppose they intend to do with him?"

Hawkeye shrugged, but then realized his friend couldn't see his reply and forced himself to answer vocally. "Who knows? They probably just wanna ask 'im a few questions."

Hunnicutt gazed solemnly up at their prison's only exit. It was just a matter of time before the soldiers came for them, too. He stiffened, suddenly remembering his hidden mail. The Captain snapped his head forward. His helmet slid off and dropped to the dirt floor, with a dull 'clunk'. B.J. was beginning to wonder if he was ever gonna get to read Peg's letters.

Both of them knelt there, lost in silent thought, until weariness and exhaustion overcame them once again. The two friends settled uncomfortably back down on the cold, hard ground. As they lay there, in the cool, damp dirt, they couldn't help but think of the cozy cots they were forced to leave back at their abandoned camp. And their friends. What had become of their friends? Hopefully, _they_ were safe and sound...somewhere's to the South.

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The 4077th's convoy had finally rumbled to a halt some fifteen miles to the South, in the small village of Seijo.

The 8063rd's MASH Unit had halted there, the previous evening, and was already set up on the outskirts of the village.

The 4077th's patients were tucked into the 8063rd's dry, cozy Post-Op, to be given medical attention and treatment until such a time as they could be Evac'ed down to the Hospital in Seoul.

While extra tents and cots were being hurriedly set up for the 4077th's travel-weary personnel, Colonel Potter commandeered an abandoned hut and had Klinger assemble the troops there for a brief, gloomy, announcement.

Potter studied the fatigued faces of the people crowded around him in the small, candle-lit room.

Nobody spoke a word. They just stood there, asleep on their feet, staring blankly back at their C.O..

"I realize you're all very tired, so I won't keep you long," their Colonel promised, his voice sounding hollow and strained. He cleared his throat and then reluctantly continued. "I just thought you should know that Major Winchester, Captain Pierce and Captain Hunnicutt are missing and have presumably been captured by the enem–" he stopped talking as the suddenly 'alert' group began voicing shock and disbelief at this bit of horrifying news. Potter held up his hands and motioned for everyone to hush up.

They did and he continued, "My last contact with them had 'em still in camp working on Lt. Ames. Now, Major Houlahan and Sergeant Flouren have both assured me that they made it out of there okay. So, I can only assume that they somehow got separated from the rest of the convoy and took a wrong turn back at the first crossroads. I sent the Sergeant back to look for them. His men found the place crawling with the Chine–" he was forced to stop again, as a dozen questions were thrown at him at once.

"I contacted those dunderheads down at I-Corps," he explained, looking and sounding terribly disgusted. "They tell me there is absolutely nothing they can do about it, right now. But, in the hope that they have fallen into North Korean–and not Chinese–hands the people over in Panmunjom are being notified. They will attempt to negotiate some sort of Prisoner Exchange–" he halted again. "Either way, they'll be needing our prayers." 'What a fine time for Captain Mulkahedy to be off in Tokyo on R&R', he glumly realized.

The still-stunned members of his audience exchanged grave, solemn glances.

"Until we get our doctors back, the 4077th will be operating as part of the 8063rd," Potter informed them.

The group groaned, in disappointment.

"Under my command," the Colonel added and their long, sorrowful faces instantly brightened...somewhat. "I expect your full cooperation. That is all I have to say. Now, let's all _try_ to get some shut-eye!" Potter disappeared into a back room.

His people glanced glumly at one another and gradually began to disperse..

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Major Houlahan was slumped in a chair beside Lt. Ames' cot. The sleeping soldier's hand still clutched her's, tightly. The nurse's eyelids kept drooping shut and her blonde head nodded, from time-to-time.

Private Benson was seated across from her. The young man marveled at the nurse's ability to remain awake. "Major, if you'd like to get some sleep, I'll stay with him," he finally offered.

The Major snapped her eyes open and she flashed the private a warm, appreciative smile. "Thanks, but I'm all right. I'd like to stay a while longer." She saw Nurse Davis enter the Post-Op. She also caught the rather forlorn look on her face. Margaret caught the woman's attention and motioned her over. "What did the Colonel have to say?"

Davis looked even more forlorn and hesitated to answer. "He says we're gonna be working as part of the 8063rd's for a while."

The Major suddenly felt a might forlorn, herself...and, more than a little confused. "Why? Why can't they just requisition us some new equipment? All we need are some new tents–"

"–And doctors," Davis abruptly interrupted. Tears began streaming silently down her cheeks. "Hawkeye, B.J. and Charles didn't make it..." she shakily informed her fellow nurse...and friend.

For a few moments, Margaret was simply too stunned to speak. She glared at the 'bad news' bearer in shock and disbelief. At last she found her voice. "What do you mean–!" she angrily began, but then remembered where she was at and lowered her voice. "What do you mean _they didn't make it!_ Where are they? Are they all right?"

Davis blinked her blurring vision clear and struggled desperately to not break down. "Nobody knows where or how they are. The Colonel is pretty convinced they're lost behind the lines. He's afraid the commies might have 'em."

Davis' little revelation was simply too much for the Major to deal with. She shut her tired, tearing eyes. 'At least they're not dead,' she consoled herself. 'Yet...'. Her eyes reopened. "What's being done to get them back?"

"A lot of praying," Davis solemnly announced..

"That's it!" the outraged Major demanded. "That's all?" she re-inquired, in a much lower, and calmer, voice.

"For now, yes. So, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to mine..."

"Yes...of course," Margaret assured her with an understanding nod..

Davis composed herself, as much as possible, and quietly walked away.

The Major stared rather dazedly down at the young Lieutenant. 'They would've made it if it weren't for you,' she bitterly realized. 'They would probably be here, right now, if they hadn't stayed behind to help you.'

Private Benson sensed her thoughts. "I'm sorry about your friends, Major. I...I know it probably wouldn't've happened if we hadn't asked them to stay behind and take care of the Lt., here."

"You're very astute, private," she cooly conceded.

Benson swallowed hard and stared determinedly back at the Major. "Would it help any to know that Lt. Ames got hurt while drawing enemy fire away from the rest of his platoon?"

Margaret's look softened and she stared thoughtfully back down at the young man clutching her hand.

"The Lt. is one very special guy, Major. He's the finest, bravest most unselfish man I've ever known. He's saved a lot of lives over here...some more than once. And the reason I'm telling you all this is because he'd never mention it himself. That's just the kind a' guy he is."

Margaret couldn't help but notice how _perfectly _the private's description fit each of the three missing doctors...her three missing friends. Her throat tightened and her vision blurred. She blinked to clear it. But it was blurring faster than she could blink, and so tears started running silently down her cheeks. "Yes...I know the type," the woman assured him, softly. Then she closed her eyes again...and started praying.

End of Chapter Four


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

B.J. dreamt. In his dream, someone (probably 'they') was trying to wrench his arms from their sockets. He snapped awake and groaned, finding his dream a rather painful reality. Two pairs of hands tightened their vise-like grips on his wrists and he was jerked, roughly, to his feet. He stood there, blinking and squinting out through the darkness, in a desperate attempt to get his jumbled thoughts together. 'Oh...right...the hut...the North Koreans...Charles–' "Charles! Are you _okay_!"

Winchester had been dumped, unceremoniously, onto the dirt floor in the center of the hut. He spit some damp soil from between his teeth and lifted his tired, spinning head. "As _okay_ as can be expected, under these _vile_ circumstances," he wearily replied.

The soldiers shoved the barrels of their rifles into Captain Hunnicutt's back and he was escorted from the premises.

Hawkeye jerked and his eyes snapped open, as a loud 'bang' rudely awakened him. 'What the...?'

The Major spat some more of the moist earth from his mouth and started struggling to his knees. "Pierce? Pierce, are you awake?"

Hawkeye continued to gaze dazedly out through the darkness. Suddenly, regrettably, it all came back to him. "Yeah...I'm awake." He grimaced and started getting stiffly to his knees. "What about you? Are you _okay_?"

"As _okay_ as can be expected, under these _vile_ circumstances," he replied, for the second time in as many minutes. "Can you please loosen this cord for me? You were absolutely right! Those sadistic savages tied it much tighter, this time."

Pierce's eyes gradually adjusted to their gloomy surroundings. He discerned that his fellow Captain's dark form was no longer sprawled beside him and suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. "B.J.! Where is he? Did they take him?"

"Yes. They took him. Now, will you please untie this cord, before my hands turn black and my fingers begin to fall off?"

"What went on out there?" Hawkeye anxiously inquired, as he obligingly positioned himself to free the Major's bonds.

"I was questioned."

"Like _how_ questioned?" Pierce impatiently demanded..

"Verbally," Charles irritatedly told him. "And, I might add, in a much more civilized manner than that of your present interrogation."

Hawkeye knelt there in the dark, struggling with a very stubborn knot. He lowered the level of his voice and politely pondered, "Well, then, what all did you tell them?".

"I spoke with only one man–a young North Korean Lieutenant...a rather pleasant fellow, actually. His English is flawless. I cannot begin to tell you how refresh–"

"–What did you tell 'im!" Pierce impatiently repeated.

"What do you think I told him? The truth, of course!"

"The whole truth?"

"And nothing but the truth," Winchester wearily added.. "So help me, God."

"I don't suppose it ever occurred to you to just stick to your name, rank and serial number?"

"Of course it did. It also occurred to me that the Military Code of Conduct applies solely to those prisoners of war possessing information of some _military_ value. Since I am a non-combatant, and have no knowledge, whatsoever, of anything of_ military_ importance, nothing I could possibly have to say would be, in any way, detrimental to my country's war eff–"

"–All right! All right! So what did he say? Did he believe you?"

"He informed me that we are suspected of committing acts of espionage against his country."

"And what did you say?"

"I told him that was absolutely ludicrous! And assured him that we are _surgeons_...**not** _spies_," Charles sighed in relief, as the circulation began returning to his cold, numb fingers. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" .

"Did he believe you?"

"Why shouldn't he? After all, I was carrying a medical bag and wearing a bloodstained surgical gown...that's fine, right there," he added, as the cord's tension became bearable.

The Captain re-tied the knot on the Major's loosened bonds, and the prisoner's wrists were re-secured.

Winchester gritted his teeth and grimaced. Along with the renewed blood flow, came renewed feeling...and, that feeling was excruciating pain. "Now, if you do not mind, perhaps we could continue your interrogation _in the morning_?"

Pierce took the hint and refrained from further questioning.

Charles sprawled back down onto the cold, hard ground, and then tried to assume a comfortable position. Unfortunately, but not unexpectedly, he couldn't seem to find one. The surgeon gave up and, for the second time that evening, began massaging life back into his poor, hurting hands. "Barbarians," he muttered, disgustedly. The man's heavy eyelids drooped shut. He managed to wriggle his tingling, throbbing fingers a few more times before slipping back into a deep slumber. The kind of sleep that comes from complete physical exhaustion.

Despite the Major's assurances, Hawkeye remained deeply troubled. He and B.J. had no medical bags...no surgical gowns to back up_ their_ stories. Heck, they weren't even wearing Army uniforms.

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B.J.'s squinting eyes were finding the transition, from total darkness to blindingly bright light, a bit hard to take. So he sat there, basking in the 300 Watt glow of the bare electric bulb suspended over his head, willing them to remain open. The Captain's peepers continued to close on him, however. So he forced himself to look around the room, just to give them something to do. This one room hut was a lot like their's, only much larger...and it had a few furnishings: two chairs and a table. On the table were Winchester's belongings and his box of letters from home and photos of his wife...and baby girl.

Hunnicutt lowered his head, to avoid the light, and stared blurrily down at his mud-encrusted, water-logged boots. His footwear wasn't all that was wet. The Captain's parka hadn't provided him with much protection from the downpours. His entire body had been completely drenched and he was chilled-to-the-bone.

He heard his interrogator gasp in exasperation and strained to focus his sore, squinting eyes in his direction. "I'm sorry. Could you please repeat the question?" Between the sleep deprivation and the hypothermia, the doctor was having an incredibly difficult time concentrating...on anything.

"Your serial number, Captain Hunnicutt?" the young, North Korean Lieutenant repeated, for a third time.

The Captain stared blankly back at him for a few seconds. "Uhh...I _think_ it's 37929966."

The young officer stared back at him in disbelief. "You do not _know_ your serial number?"

"Not off-hand, no. Since the Army makes me wear it, there's no need to have it memorized. It's always with me–wherever I go."

The Lieutenant gave one of the two armed guards standing at the Captain's sides an order.

The soldier latched on to the little chain, dangling from their prisoner's neck.

Realizing that his dog tags were about to be yanked–very forcefully–from around his throat, the Captain ducked. The chain slipped off over his head, causing the soldier to lose his balance and stumble backwards.

The guard regained his balance and then stood there for a few moments, listening to his comrades snickering. His face flushed with anger. His eyes riveted icily on the American.

B.J. ducked again, as the humiliated man came stomping back up to him with the butt-end of his rifle raised.

The young officer saw the American cowering and quickly shouted out another order.

The guard reluctantly lowered his weapon and dropped the prisoner's dog tags into his C.O.'s open palm.

The Lieutenant copied the desired information onto an official-looking form and then glanced back up. Their captive gave him a look of undying gratitude, which he pretended not to notice. "If you are an American Army officer, then why is it that you are dressed as a civilian?"

B.J. saw his interrogator's suspicious stare and was forced to smile. "I'm a doctor, Lieutenant. For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to be a doctor. I've never wanted to be an 'Army Officer'. I hate the Army and I hate this war. I'm dressed like this," he glanced down at his attire, "because it helps me forget the war for a while...and, because these were the cleanest, driest clothes I had, at the time. My C.O. doesn't mind. He realizes it helps me to...unwind."

The North Korean officer was satisfied with the American officer's answer, and moved on. "Were these the only personal items in your possession, at the time of your capture?"

"They also took some loose change, my watch, and my rain parka," the Captain quietly replied, and gazed dazedly down at the box being pointed to.

The Lieutenant suddenly looked somewhat irritated. He turned towards the door and shouted out something in Korean.

The portal flew open and a fifth NK soldier came stomping into the room. He marched right up to the table, gave the young officer a snappy salute and then stood there, rigidly, at attention.

B.J. recognized the newcomer. His ribs were still smarting from the butt of the man's rifle.

Upon questioning, the soldier reluctantly reached into one of the pockets of his uniform and produced the coins and the missing watch. Then, to distract attention from his misdeeds, he quickly informed the Lieutenant, that this particular prisoner spoke some Korean.

The young officer smiled, inwardly, at the man's obvious attempt to change the subject. It worked. The Lieutenant's attention returned to the American. "I have been told you speak some Korean. Tei pai e?"

'This is true?' B.J. mentally translated and nodded. "Wei'ju kwai-sun," he readily admitted.

The Lieutenant's lips formed a slight smile, which quickly broadened into a grin.

Hunnicutt's already slumped shoulders sagged a little more. "Then again," he muttered, dejectedly, "I'm not sure _what_ I speak"

"Do not be discouraged, Captain. Your pronunciation is quite acceptable...as was your choice of characters. However," he hesitated, his eyes sparkling with amusement, "I am afraid your sentence 'structure' leaves much to be desired."

"We were just getting to that part...when my teacher got sent home to Iowa."

The soldier standing at attention then went on to tell their C.O. what their prisoner had told them at the time of his capture.

"You were trying to tell my men not to hurt you?" the Lieutenant guessed, with a grin. "Because you were feeling friendly?"

Their captive looked a little confused, and not the least bit amused, and nodded.

"The character you chose to express _hurt _represents emotional injury...not physical harm. The character you chose to express _friendly_ is considered, in Korean, to mean friendly as in the manner of _ladies of the evening_."

B.J. looked thoughtful and then somewhat embarrassed. "In other words, I told them we were a bunch of prostitutes...and asked them not to break our hearts."

"That would be an accurate translation. Yes." For a few fleeting moments, the young officer and the American actually exchanged smiles. But, then, the Lieutenant's countenance quickly sobered. "Can you prove that you are who you claim to be?"

The Captain replied with a question of his own. "Is there a doctor around here? I'm pretty confident that I could pass an oral medical exam..."

Once again, the young officer was forced to smile. "Have you anything to add to the Major's statement, Captain?"

B.J. managed a weary sigh and a slight smile himself. "Nope. I believe _he_ said it _all_. "

There was a lull in the questioning, as the Lieutenant carefully studied his notes. The young officer was feeling rather weary, himself. "Thank you, Captain. That is all, for now," he determined. He then ordered the guards to remove this man and bring the third American prisoner to him.

B.J. was so relieved to find his interrogation had ended, that he hardly minded being jerked to his feet and then pushed and prodded over to the exit. The door flew open, just as he was shoved up to it, and he found himself staring into the cold, steely, squinting eyes of a North Korean Colonel. Something about the guy caused the Captain to shudder. Perhaps it was the icy indifference of the man's unnerving stare? Or, maybe the way his pursed lips curled themselves into a permanent sneer.

They stood there, face-to-face, for a few moments.

The guards, who had snapped to attention, yanked the prisoner–rather rapidly–out of their Colonel's path, and he stepped into the room.

The soldiers then pushed their American captive through the open–and no longer obstructed–portal and out into the yard.

Hunnicutt shuddered again, at the sudden drop in air temperature. He, and his escort, managed to get within twenty yards of the hut where his friends were being held.

Then, someone shouted something out, from behind, and his guards ground to a halt..

A soldier the Captain had never seen before came running up and relayed a message to his comrades.

B.J.'s heart sank as he was jerked roughly around and escorted back over to the interrogation hut. 'What no-ow!' he glumly wondered, to himself, and then groaned, aloud, in mental anguish.

The Captain was prodded back inside the well-lit little building, and–literally–thrown down onto 'the' chair. He straightened himself up and squinted off across the table. Much to his dismay, he discovered that he was–once again–face-to-face with the sneering Colonel.

The young Lieutenant now stood at his C.O.'s side, having been demoted from interrogator...to interpreter.

The senior-ranking North Korean officer sat there–silently–glaring their American captive right in his barely-open eyes.

Hunnicutt wasn't sure which glare he despised more, the NK Colonel's...or the bare lightbulb's. He closed his eyes, to shut them both out, and appealed to the Lieutenant. "Couldn't whatever it is wait until morning? I've been told I don't _talk in my sleep_."

"It seems our Chinese allies are very anxious to discover the whereabouts of your U.N. forces. They are also quite anxious to learn of your plans for a counteroffensive. Colonel Reaik intends to help them get this information."

B.J. got the distinct impression that the Lt. had no great love for his Colonel. "_My_ U.N. forces? _My_ plans for a counteroffensive?" he inquired, looking and sounding utterly amazed. "Who do does he think he's got here? General McCarthur? Please, tell your Colonel for me, that I cannot help him. I don't know where _any_ U.N. forces are. Heck! I don't even know where _my own medical unit_ is! I doubt if anyone knows where the troops are right now. You see, they took off in a bit of a hurry and left no forwarding address. And, as for 'counteroffensives', they don't share plans of that nature with us medical types."

"I have already told him who you claim to be and how you came to be here. Colonel Reaik chooses **not** to believe me. He chooses, instead, to believe that you are a spy...a member of America's elite spy ring–the C.I.A.." He hesitated, so the Captain could comment. But the prisoner now seemed too stunned to speak. So, he, reluctantly, continued. "The Colonel says that the lettering on your uniform proves you are one of their agents..." the Lieutenant's words trailed off.

The Captain's shocked expression turned to one of confusion. The lettering on his uniform? He wasn't even wearing a unifor–he glanced down at his chest, at the letters YMCA printed across the front of his dirty, damp sweatshirt. His expression changed again, first, to amazement...and then, to amusement. He pursed his lips tightly together and clenched his jaw in a valiant effort to maintain his composure. "Am I to understand...that your Colonel, there...actually _believes_...that American spies...would go running around North Korea unarmed...and all the while advertising the fact that they _are_ C.I.A. agents..." he was momentarily too amused to continue, "on the front of their dirty sweat shirts?"

The Lt. looked very grave and nodded, solemnly.

B.J. was even more amazed and amused. "He sure doesn't credit U.S. Intelligence Agents with much intelligence, does he?"

His interpreter sadly shook his head.

The thought of unintelligent intelligence agents reminded Hunnicutt of good ole Colonel Flagg. 'That's it!' he silently realized. 'Colonel Reaik must have had a run-in with our beloved Colonel Flagg!' It seemed the two Colonels had a great deal in common. It was blatantly apparent that neither of them had the slightest grip on reality. The Captain's amused look vanished, and he suddenly felt very scared. If the NK Colonel was mentally unstable, then he was capable of believing anything. He swallowed hard and then turned back to the Lieutenant. "Do _you _believe that?"

The young officer avoided their prisoner's eyes. "It does not matter what I believe, Captain. I am no longer in charge here. The Colonel believes you are a spy–and so you _are_ a spy."

"But, that's not true!" B.J. shouted and sprang to his feet. His guards latched onto his arms and slammed him back down on the chair. "No pai e!" he assured the Colonel, right to his sneering face.

"The Colonel is interested in only two things, at this moment, Captain. And, unfortunately, neither of them is the _truth_. First, he is interested in upstaging our Chinese allies. And second, in getting you to help him accomplish the first."

"But, I can't help him! I'm a doctor...a surgeon! I don't know a single thing that could possibly help him!"

"Regardless," the young officer replied and continued to avoid the Captain's eyes, "the Colonel intends to... 'convince' you to do so."

B.J. did not care for the way the Lt. had said the word 'convince'. No, sir! He didn't like the sound of _that_ at a-all. He could feel his body going numb...with fear. "And what about you, Lieutenant? Do you intend to just stand by and _watch_ him 'convince' me?"

"I told you, I am no longer in charge here."

"That's a good excuse, Lieutenant," the Captain admitted. "But, not very original. I imagine the officers under Hitler used it to justify the atrocities that were committed in Nazi Germany."

The American must have touched a nerve, because the young man finally turned to face him. "Your fate is up to you, Captain! Cooperate and no harm will come to you!"

Hunnicutt considered that bit of advice over for a few moments. "Oka-ay. Say I make up some _helpful_ information. Then what? What happens to me–to us? What are our chances of making it back to our unit?"

"The Colonel will probably hand you–and the information–over to the Chinese."

B.J.'s heart sank in his chest. He exhaled a resigned sigh and lowered his solemn gaze to his lap. "So much for that idea..."

"Captain, the Colonel will convince you, sooner or later. He will convince you to help him. Please, take my advice and help him sooner! Avoid the…'unpleasantries', which accompany the later."

Hunnicutt's head snapped back up. "'Unpleasantries'?" he sarcastically repeated. "Why, that conjures up visions of picnics being rained on...and inferior table wines...and having to eat one's soup at an undesirable temperature. I think I can handle _that_." 'My god, what have I gotten myself into?' he wondered, despairedly and went back to staring at his lap. He didn't want to think about it. He was too tired to think about it. "Tell the Colonel that I can _not _help him," he requested, softly.

It was the Lieutenant's turn to look shocked. "Captain, please reconsider! I know the Colonel. Believe me, he is quite capable of 'convincing' any_one_ to confess to any_thing_!"

"Well, then I guess that means I'm gonna have to be even more 'convincing'," he stubbornly stated and then looked up. His tired eyes locked on to the Lieutenant's. "I've got to try to change the Colonel's mind about me...I've got to," he softly repeated.

"But, why, Captain? What do you hope to gain?"

B.J.'s gaze slowly shifted to the table top, and the little shoe box that was still setting there. He thought of Peg and Erin...of Hawkeye and his long overdue discharge...of Charles and his gold-mine practice back in Boston. What did he hope to gai-ain? _Everything_! "Maybe it's not so much what I hope to gain, as what I can't afford to lose."

The Lieutenant turned to his Commanding Officer and reluctantly translated everything the prisoner had requested him to translate.

The Colonel looked positively livid and slammed a clenched fist down on the table.

Captain Hunnicutt cringed and then sat there, listening to 'Colonel Flaggu' vent his wrath upon his interpreter.

The younger officer turned a deaf ear to his C.O.'s hostile diatribe.

Seeing that he wasn't getting anywhere with his subordinate, Flaggu directed his attention, and his shouted orders, to the two guards standing at the spy's sides.

"Meillu-ansan!" B.J. shouted, as he was hauled, roughly, to his feet. (I'm a doctor!)

The soldiers started raising their rifles.

The Captain panicked. "Hey, fellas," he exclaimed, slipping quickly out of their grasp and stepping back out of striking range, "we're all adults here. Why can't we be reasonable and discuss this intelligently?"

The 'fellas' continued to approach him, with their rifles raised.

Hunnicutt's heart rate increased–dramatically. He broke into a cold sweat and began backing up again. "Actions don't always speak louder than words!" He backed right up against the wall and then stood there, positively dreading the _unpleasantries_ that seemed to be headed his way. The Captain clasped his hands together, to keep them from trembling. But then, his entire body started shaking.

The young officer gasped, in both fury and frustration, and started heading for the door.

"No, Lieutenant!" Hunnicutt called out to him. "Please, don't go– " he gasped and doubled up in agony, as one of the guards brought his rifle butt down on his right rib cage.

The young man stopped at the door, but didn't turn around.

The other guard brought his rifle butt down. The prisoner gasped again and sank to his knees.

'Oo-ooh..that smarts!' the Captain quickly realized. His breath returned, in quick, short gasps. He slowly opened his eyes and unclenched his gritted teeth. "I'm gonna need you to trans–" he stopped speaking, as another blow knocked him the rest of the way to the ground. He grimaced and gasped and unclenched his jaws again, "–late for me or I'll never convince the Colonel–" he gasped a fourth time, as one of the guards planted a boot in the small of his back. "–that I'm really a doctor!" their pain-wracked prisoner stubbornly finished. Hunnicutt was rewarded with a rifle butt in his left shoulder. He gritted his teeth again, to keep from crying out. "Meillu-ansan!" he shouted, when his breath finally returned, and tried, unsuccessfully, to roll out of the way of their well-aimed blows.

The Lieutenant heard their prisoner let out another involuntary cry of pain and whirled around to face his C.O.. "A gien!" he angrily demanded. "Emkie a gien!" (Stop this! You must stop this!)

As expected, the Colonel completely ignored the request.

His interpreter spun back around and went storming out of the hut.

Hunnicutt heard the door slam. His heart sank...again. He didn't want to have to face Flaggu alone. Hell, he didn't want to have to face Flaggu–period! He shut his eyes, tightly, clamped his jaws firmly together and braced his body, for further blows. Pain clouded his mind. He tried to close **it** off to the proceedings, too. He couldn't. 'Why?' he silently wondered. 'Why is this happening to me?'

The Captain had been under enemy attack before, when the unit had come under artillery fire. But, this...this was different. This was much more...personal. Why did these men seem to hate him so? What had he ever done to them to make them hate him so? It just didn't make any sense! None of it! 'This whole business is senseless!' he silently realized. And, if war was senseless, that meant there was absolutely nothing, within reason, that he could possibly do to change matters any. If war was senseless, then there was no way for him to ever understand how complete strangers could do this to him.

Speaking of what was being done to him...Another gasp, another involuntary cry of pain, and the Captain had had enough! He was tired of feeling scared and helpless! It was time for him to fight back! "Hold it!" he breathlessly ordered, "Hold everything!"

The soldiers stared at each other in confusion and hesitated to move.

"You shouldn't go around...hitting people like this!" B.J. severely scolded his attackers. "Somebody...could get seriously hurt!" He braced himself against the wall and started getting slowly and painfully back up onto his feet. "Believe me...I know! I'm a doctor!" He saw his captors' looks of confusion deepening. "Meillu-ansan," he calmly explained, in their own vernacular..

Colonel Flaggu slammed his fist down in anger, again and then sprang to his feet. "Poie-e akau!" (You are a spy!) he quickly corrected. and stood there, glaring intently at his prisoner.

B.J. glared, defiantly, back. "Meillu-ansan! Meillu-ansan! Meillu-ansan!" he stubbornly insisted.

The knuckles of the Colonel's clenched fists turned white and his permanent sneer became even more snarled. "Poie-e akau!" he screamed and motioned for the guards to get on with it.

The Captain quickly sidestepped the advancing soldiers and successfully dodged several of their falling rifle butts. But, he was battling insurmountable odds. It reminded him of the night he won that arm-wrestling match at Rosie's. "I feel it's only fair that I should warn you...I once took on ten Marines...singlehandedly!" he added, formaximum effect.

The gun-toting goons were not impressed..

Hunnicutt dodged several more of their blows and then made a mad dash for the door.

Colonel Flaggu cut their escaping prisoner off and then doubled him over with a savage kick to his solar plexis.

B.J. groaned and staggered back into the waiting raised rifles of his guards.

Life was just full of 'unpleasantries', around there.

End of Chapter Five


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The young North Korean Lieutenant lay motionless on the cot in his damp, cramped quarters, just a few short yards from the interrogation hut. His left arm cradled his head. His right arm was draped across his chest. In his hand was a black and white snapshot of a lovely young Korean woman, holding a small child.

A candle's flame flickered in the drafty room. Shadows danced upon the walls and the tattered photograph. The young man gazed affectionately down at the smiling young woman–and the beautiful baby boy in her arms–and was finally forced to smile, himself. The smile faded fast, however, and his head slowly turned in the general direction of the interrogation hut.

Why should the fate of one foolish American trouble him so? His conscience answered him, even as he asked. It was because the foolish American was also a fellow human being. A fellow human being with whom he obviously had a great deal in common.

By the Captain's own admission, he'd been thrown into this war against his will.

So had he.

The fact, that the box of letters and pictures from home was the Captain's most treasured possession, proved that he had strong family ties.

So did he.

His tired eyes refocused on the picture of his wife and son. The Lieutenant was immediately reminded of the attractive blonde lady, and the blue-eyed baby girl in the photos he'd seen in the Captain's _treasure_ box.

Was the American really so foolish to risk so much to be reunited with his family? Perhaps not. Perhaps _he_ would be forced to try it himself, given the same circumstances. The Lieutenant's conscience kept telling him that something needed to be done to help the American. He agreed. But, what? How could he help the Captain without endangering himself...and his own family?

A sharp knock on his door snapped him back to reality and saved him from having to answer. "Aki!" he called out. (Enter!)

The door was thrown open. A soldier stomped up to the officer's bunk and saluted. The intruder relayed a brief message and then stood there, stiffly, at attention.

The Lieutenant was pleased to hear that the American prisoner was asking for him, as was his C.O.. He stashed the photo back into his breast pocket and scrambled quickly from his cot. Perhaps the Captain had decided to cooperate, after all? The interpreter snatched up his weapon and his helmet and followed his visitor out into the yard.

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Captain Hunnicutt was in a world a' hurt. Every muscle and every tendon, in his entire trembling body, was rigid and tensed, in fearful anticipation of further direct violence to them. And so, his entire trembling body was racked in pain...a whole lot of pain...a wide range of pain. It was difficult for the pain receptors in his brain to keep it sorted all out. There was the_ intense_, _excruciating_ pain...the _dull, throbbing_ pain...the _sharp, searing_ pain...and the just _plain_ _pain_ pain. The pain consumed him and hampered, not only his thought processing, but his breathing. Respirations were now quick and shallow. It simply hurt too much for him to breathe deeply.

Why couldn't he just pass out? Or, be shot and put permanently out of his misery? He definitely wished that his body didn't have such a high tolerance level for pain. The doctor knew of people who could pass out simply at the _sight_ of blood–or hypodermic needles, even! Why couldn't he be one of them? He wasn't sure how much more 'convincing' he could take...and he wasn't the least bit anxious to find out, either.

The pained prisoner suddenly recalled having once read about a man who'd been jailed for beating his dog. The guy had beaten the poor defenseless animal until it ended up hating every other living creature. The dog had had to be destroyed.

Hate was an unbelievably destructive force. It was definitely the driving force behind the North Korean soldiers' cruelty towards him. The Captain could see the hatred in their eyes. No matter how much he was hated, no matter how badly he was beaten, he wasn't going to hate back. 'The hate stops here!' B.J. inwardly resolved. 'One way...or the other,' he silently and solemnly added. 'Clive Parsons!' That was the name of the bastard who beat his dog. 'Strange...the thoughts one thinks...when one's mind is clouded with pain.'

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The Lieutenant had seen the gruesome results of Colonel Reaik's 'convincing' many times before. Still, he was not prepared for the sight that greeted him as he entered the interrogation hut. He found the Captain face-down on the dirt floor of the hut, writhing in pain. The prisoner's arms were still bound behind his back. His wrists were raw and bleeding, cut by the harsh, thin cord. The young man winced and quickly looked away. Then, as if the gruesome sight hadn't sickened him enough, he had to listen to his cruel C.O. gloat.

The sneering sadist gleefully informed his junior officer that the American spy had been sufficiently 'convinced' , and now seemed both eager and willing to talk.

The sickened young man stepped obediently up to the pain-racked prisoner and tried his level best to look and sound completely indifferent. "I have been ordered to interpret your...confession, Captain."

Hunnicutt was more than a little relieved to hear the young Lieutenant's voice. Through all his many miseries, the American even managed just the slightest of smiles. He swallowed, hard. All that panting had really parched his throat. And, not just his throat. His mouth was almost too dry now to speak. "I have decided...to tell Colonel Reaik...everything I know–"

"–I am _extremely_ relieved to hear this, Captain!" his young interpreter interrupted, his cool demeanor crumbling

"–about bones," B.J. finished, a bit breathlessly.

The Lieutenant stared down at the American in shock and disbelief. "You cannot be serious!"

"Once the Colonel hears...how much..I know...about bones...I'm sure he'll be...'convinced'…that I really must be…a doctor." The prisoner's respirations were so rapid and so shallow, he could only get a few words in between breaths.

There was a long, ominous silence.

Hunnicutt forced his tightly shut lids open. His blurry eyes followed a pair of tall black boots up until they locked gazes with an extremely worried-looking young North Korean officer. "Relax, Lieutenant...If things get...too...'unpleasant' for you…around here...You-ou…can always leave again." B.J. saw the struggle going on in the young man's face and realized his bitter, sarcastic comments had definitely struck home. At least, he hoped it had. He really _wasn't_ sure how much more 'convincing' he could take.

Colonel Reaik exhaled an impatient gasp and stomped up to scream a couple Korean expletives at both his unproductive interpreter and the non-confessing C.I.A. agent.

B.J. gave the concerned young man standing over him a desperately-pleading parting glance. The doctor then closed his sad, burning eyes and started to make his...statement. "The...human skeletal system...is comprised of...approximately...206...individual bones," he breathlessly, but sincerely, 'confessed'. "Varying in size...from the largest...the femur of the upper leg...to the smallest...the stirrup of the middle ear." The pained, panting physician paused to muster some more moisture in his incredibly dry mouth, and catch his labored breath. "Let me know...if I'm going too fast..for you, Lieutenant...This...is a very 'revealing' lecture...and I wouldn't want the Colonel…to miss...a single...sincere...detail."

Speaking of the Colonel...

Reaik turned to his silent subordinate and demanded to know what was being said.

The young officer hesitated to speak.

"Go ahead, Lieutenant," B.J. urged. "Tell him."

The deeply-troubled young man turned his back on their very stubborn prisoner and reluctantly started translating the doctor's impromptu lecture on...bones.

A strange look came over the Colonel's face, and the faces of the two other NK soldiers in the room. Reaik glanced from his interpreter...to the spy...to his interpreter...looking completely baffled and at a total loss for words.

"The...number of bones...also varies," Hunnicutt continued, when the Lieutenant finally caught up. "For instance...a child may have...33 vertebral segments in his spine...whereas an adult...has only 26 with...the first 9 lumbar vertebrae...fusing...to form the sacrum...and the coccyx...Starting at the top of the human skeleton...and working our way down...the skull...is composed of 22 bones...which...together...form the cranium...the face...and the jaw...the...exterior cranium...or calvarium re–" he was forced to stop speaking, as the Colonel suddenly exploded in a violent fit of rage.

"The Colonel demands that you stop this nonsense, and be sincere with him," the Lieutenant announced, translating the raging man's ragings. "He demands that you give him the precise locations and numbers of your UN forces–"

"– I am being sincere!" B.J. interrupted, venting a little anger of his own. "The only things...I...can give him...the precise locations...and numbers of...are his _bones_!" he grimaced and gasped and shut up. He was hurting waaaay too much to be shouting.

There was a brief silence.

Then, the Lieutenant shouted something to his Colonel in Korean.

Suddenly, Captain Hunnicutt felt cold metal being pressed into his left temple. His racing heart skipped a few beats. B.J. clenched his bruised jaw and began to pray, in earnest.

The young NK officer continued to plead with his sadistic C.O..

Reaik thumbed the hammer back on his revolver and gave the American spy an ultimatum.

There was no need to translate. B.J. got the picture. "Tell the Colonel...that I would rather die...from a bullet...than a beating...any day...And...that if he does...kill me...I'll be a dead...doctor...not a dead...spy."

The Lieutenant gazed sadly down at the courageous–but unbelievably fool-hardy–Captain for a few moments. Then, seeing that his C.O. looked as though he was about to turn his gun on _him_, he reluctantly translated the stubborn American's message.

Reaik screamed several more choice Korean expletives and stood back up. The sadist thensavagely planted a boot squarely to the left side of the C.I.A. agent's locked jaw.

"Uhhh!" Captain Hunnicutt cried out, involuntarily, as his head was snapped painfully to one side, from the force of the blow. Another involuntary groan escaped him. He grimaced and tasted blood. 'Way to go,' he chastised himself. 'You really put his foot in your mouth that time!' B.J. carefully unclenched his bruised, but hopefully not broken, jaw, and ran his bleeding tongue over his loosened teeth. He grimaced again and spat blood. 'That was definitely in the _intense, excruciating_ category.' He spat some more blood and grimaced...again.

Reaik gave the exasperating C.I.A. agent a good, swift kick in the ribs and then turned to shoot his interpreter a menacing glare.

The Lieutenant heard the Captain cry out in pain and watched, as the now non-breathing man drew himself up into a ball. His conscience kept reminding him that something really should be done to help this innocent, stubborn man. But first, he would try, one last time, to get the American to help himself. He ignored his C.O.'s threatening glare and stooped down beside the prisoner. "Captain, please! It is no use! The Colonel remains unconvinced of your innocence! You must be sincere now!" he hesitated, finding his next words very distasteful, "or the...beating will continue."

Hunnicutt's traumatized lungs finally recovered from the Colonel's kick. He gasped, and then groaned. He could feel broken bone end grating on broken bone end and grimly realized that more than just his _wind_ had been knocked out. "Beating?...You call this…a beating?...Why, this is nothing...compared to the beating…we took in O.R. yesterday...This is just a little…'unpleasantry'...remember, Lieutenant?" B.J. looked up and locked gazes with the young NK officer again.

The young man quickly looked away. He could avoid the prisoner's penetrating stare. But, there was no avoiding his deeply troubled conscience. It kept right on urging him to do something.

The Colonel took his interpreter's forlorn, defeated look to mean that the spy had decided to remain _insincere_. He screamed another Korean expletive and motioned for the two rifle-toting guards to speed their 'convincing' along.

B.J. saw Flaggu giving his attack guards the 'go ahead'.

Meanies One and Two began approaching the prisoner with their rifles raised...again.

'Damn! My bruises' bruises are gonna have bruises.' B.J. shot his one last hope one last pleading look of desperation, which the young officer failed to even notice. The Captain closed his burning eyes and let out a groan of utter despair. 'A nightmare! Of course! That's it! This can't _really_ be happening to me! Nobody _really_ does things like this to anyone. This is all just a _really bad_ dream. And, I'm gonna wake up any minute now, safe and sound, in my comfortable bed back in Mill Valley, with Peg right there beside me. And, I'm gonna take her in my arms...and I'm gonna hold onto her...and never let go of her again...ever!'

B.J.'s wishful thinking ended with an extremely agonizing–and very forceful–blow to his lower back. He gasped and groaned and quickly moved his bound wrists into a protective position over his otherwise very vulnerable kidneys. His left wrist caught the brunt of the next rifle butt blow, meant for them, and he cried out, as something snapped inside it. It was obvious, by their increased force, that the blows were now meant to either 'convince' or _kill_. Sometimes, nightmares could be too real. And, sometimes, reality could be...a nightmare.

One of the guards latched onto their prisoner's bound wrists and tried jerking him to his knees.

B.J. didn't budge. But something in his right shoulder did and he was forced to cry out again.

The Lieutenant heard the Captain cry out again and looked up in time to see one of the soldiers bring his rifle butt down on the prisoner's now unprotected lower back.

Captain Hunnicutt cried out for a third time, and was still.

The young officer saw that his comrades intended to go right on beating the now unconscious Captain. 'Now!' his conscience urged. 'You must do something _right now_!' "A gien!" he shouted, and grabbed the barrels of their raised rifles.

The two soldiers froze. The guards glanced uncertainly at one another and then turned to their Colonel, for his reaction to their Lieutenant's order.

The Lieutenant turned to him, too and quickly reminded him that a dead spy was of absolutely no value...to them or to the Chinese.

Reaik looked thoughtful.

The young officer then suggested that his C.O. ignore this prisoner, for now, and try questioning one of the others. Perhaps one of them might be 'convinced' to cooperate. Especially after they see what becomes of prisoners who refuse to be _sincere_.

The Colonel looked even more thoughtful and even somewhat pleased. Yes, he admitted, finally, the young Lieutenant was right. The spy was worth more to them _alive_. And, besides, he'd grown rather weary of the night's, thus far, unfruitful 'convincing' labors. He would freshen up a bit and then begin another interrogation.

The Lieutenant breathed an audible sigh of relief, as his C.O. went stomping out of the hut.

The two guards latched onto their prisoner's arms, and started dragging _him_ from the hut, as well.

"Uhhh!" B.J. let out an involuntary cry, as red-hot daggers tore into his wrist, ribs and shoulder. The intense discomfort momentarily revived him.

The Lieutenant quickly shouted out an order.

Captain Hunnicutt gasped in relief, as he was gently lowered to the ground. He forced his eyes open a crack and gazed dazedly around the rapidly spinning room. "Where's...Reaik?" he wondered, as the room passed before him, for the nth time, each time seemingly devoid of his sneering, sadistic nemesis.

The Lieutenant couldn't bring himself to face his questioner. "He is gone. The Colonel has given up on you, Captain."

B.J. looked up at the Lieutenant's back in disbelief and smiled...a rather sad, yet triumphant sort of smile. "Tell me...did he give up on a...doctor?...or a spy?"

"A spy," the young officer replied and continued to avoid the American's eyes. "I told you, you would never be able to 'convince' him otherwise."

B.J.'s already sad smile suddenly turned even sadder, "Wanna hear...something funny?...I...wasn't trying...to convince Reaik...All this time...I've been trying...to convince...you...to help us. " His slight smile vanished completely, as his face contorted in pain. Captain Hunnicutt clenched his loosened teeth, closed his tearing, tired eyes tightly, held his labored breath and waited for the pain to pass. The muscle spasms in his lower back and abdomen gradually subsided. He unclenched his sore jaw and groaned, as his breath returned in quick, short, excruciatingly painful gasps.

The Lieutenant heard the Captain's confession, and his groan and, finally, aimed his gaze in the American's direction. He stared down at the battered man until his vision blurred. "Then, you have succeeded, Captain."

A strange look gradually came over B.J., as the young man's words finally, fully registered with him. His glazed eyes opened and locked on the young Lieutenant's. The prisoner flashed the young officer a sore, grateful grin. The Captain's grin quickly turned to a grimace, as another series of muscle spasms began to rack his already hurting body. He groaned, involuntarily and drew himself up into a ball, as the pain became unbearable. Hunnicutt's pain-wracked body suddenly went limp and he was still, once more.

The Lieutenant stooped down beside their half-out-of-it prisoner and turned the man's expressionless face to him. "Captain? Captain, listen to me! You must tell your colleagues to cooperate with Reaik...and I will see to it that none of you fall into Chinese hands."

The semiconscious Captain continued to ignore him.

He started to place his hand on the prisoner's shaking shoulder. "Cap–"

Captain Hunnicutt's reaction to the touch was quite dramatic. He flinched as though he'd just made contact with a live electrical wire. "No-o!...Stop!" B.J. cried out, "Plea-ease...stop!" The trembling man's terror-filled eyes slowly re-opened and he lay there, panting and staring trance like at the Lieutenant.

"Tell your colleagues to cooperate with the Colonel," the young officer repeated, once he'd recovered from the incident, himself, "and I will see to it that none of you fall into Chinese hands."

There was a long silence.

"Thank...you...Lieutenant," the prisoner whispered, softly, before becoming engulfed in another wave of agony. Captain Hunnicutt knew what the muscle spasms he was experiencing indicated. He was, after all, a doctor...a meillu-ansan. The spasms were a diagnostic symptom indicating renal shut down or diversion. B.J. suddenly felt incredibly cold and weak. 'Neurogenic shock' he glumly realized. 'Too late...It's too late.' He shivered and shut his watering eyes. "Ah-ah, Peg," he moaned aloud, "I'm sorry, Sweetheart.' He moaned again, as another type of excruciating pain overwhelmed him. His throat tightened. He was never going to see his wife and daughter again...never going to hold them in his arms again. He groaned aloud, finding this knowledge more unbearable than any physical pain. His throat continued to tighten. Tears formed and fell silently down his battered cheeks. His already rapid and shallow respirations became even more labored. His thoughts became confused. The lines of a certain poem began to scroll through his foggy, groggy brain. 'My candle burns at both ends...It shall not last the night...But, ah, my friends...and, oh, my foes...it gives...a lovely...light.' Ah, his friends, Hawkeye and Charles. At least they might make it back. They _had_ to make it back!

The Captain shivered again. His thoughts became even more disoriented. He felt himself falling. As he descended, the pain that had been racking his badly-bruised body began to leave him...or, was he leaving it? Ah, heck, what possible difference did it make? B.J. was just relieved to have the horrendous hurt subsiding. A very weak, very sad smile crossed his lips, as he suddenly found himself wrapped in the arms of the woman he loved. It'd been 10 months, 3 weeks and 5 days since he'd last held her in his arms. They kissed...a tender...passionate...kiss. Then everything went blank.

The Lieutenant watched as the Captain's battered body went completely limp. The young man suddenly had the uneasy feeling that he may have waited _too long_...to become 'convinced'.

End of Chapter Six


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Hawkeye had tried pacing. He had paced until there was a well-worn path in the dirt floor of their prison. He had tried sleeping. Only to be awakened, every few minutes, by a dull agonizing pain emanating from one or both of the arms he had been lying on. So, now, he was just sitting there, in the dark, with his back leaning against the wall, and his forehead resting on his drawn up knees...worrying. It was impossible for one _not_ to worry when one was expecting to be carted off, at any moment, by a bunch of sadistic goons–with guns.

Speaking of which...

Why hadn't the North Koreans come for him? He couldn't be certain, but it sure seemed like B.J. had been gone a lot longer than Charles had. Why were they keeping him so long? 'Maybe the NK's had decided to call it a night and continue their questioning in the morning?' What if they had brought B.J. back, while he was in the midst of one of his fitful dozes, and _quietly_ closed the door?

Pierce decided to check that implausible theory out. "BeeJ?" he quietly called out and lifted his head up. His sore, sleep-deprived peepers slowly opened and he squinted them around the room. Lighting conditions in the hut had improved slightly, because Winchester's soundly sleeping form suddenly became clearly visible to him, as did the absence of Hunnicutt's.

He struggled to his feet and then staggered over to one of their hut's boarded up windows, to have himself a little look-see. He peered out through a crack in the boards. It was now twilight. And there was a breathtaking pinkish-orange glow, exploding on a tree-lined horizon. 'Da-awn!' It couldn't be dawn, already! Could it? Hawkeye jerked, startled, as the portal to their prison flew open with a forceful kick.

Two NK soldiers dragged B.J.'s motionless body back into the hut. They dumped the Captain onto the ground beside the Major. The pair then stomped back out into the yard and slammed the door.

The loud bang woke Winchester. The dazed doctor jerked and snapped his head up. "Wha–what is it?"

Captain Pierce found the fact that _he_ was still standing there most perplexing. Wasn't it _his_ turn to be interrogated? Why had the guards had just left... _without_ taking him? 'Maybe the North Koreans only held interrogations in the middle of the night?'

Captain Hunnicutt drew himself up into a ball and then lay there, groaning softly.

Hawkeye heard his friend groaning and–immediately–sprang into action. "Charles! Get up and untie my hands! C'mon!" he ordered, sharply. "Move it!"

The Major stared at the groaning man beside him for a few moments and then started getting stiffly to his feet.

"BeeJ? BeeJ, are you okay?" Pierce nervously called out, as he stepped back-to-back with Winchester.

His fellow Captain's only reply was another involuntary groan.

Hawkeye definitely did **not** like the sound of _that_ answer.

Neither did Charles. "What is the matter with him!" he asked anxiously and worked faster to free Pierce's bound wrists.

"I don't know...yet." Hawkeye felt the cord slide from his wrists, freeing his hands. He turned around and untied the knot in Charles' bonds. "See if you can get some more light in here," he quickly suggested.

Winchester pulled the cord from his wrists and hurried over to one of the hut's boarded up windows.

Hawkeye dropped numbly to his knees beside his still-groaning friend. "Bee-eej?" he called out, a bit louder.

But, adding to his concern, Captain Hunnicutt remained unresponsive.

So, Pierce slowly reached out and gently placed a hand on his pained companion's shoulder.

B.J.'s entire body jerked, as though he'd just been jabbed with an electric cattle prod. "Ah-Ahhh!" he cried out, in both agony and alarm. "Plea-ease!...Stop!" he pleaded between gasped breaths, in a voice that was just a few degrees above a whisper,"Plea-ease?...just...sto-op."

Hawkeye was momentarily too stunned to move or speak. 'My gawd, BeeJ! What have they done to you?' Somehow, he managed to regain his composure. "BeeJ! Take it easy! Nobody's gonna hurt you!" he promised, and attempted, once more, to place a comforting hand on his friend's trembling shoulder.

"No-o!...Plea-ease?" Captain Hunnicutt continued to plead, and tried to pull away.

Hawkeye held on, this time, and kept soothingly repeating, "Take it easy, Beej...Just take it easy."

B.J. moaned and made a feeble attempt to turn in the very familiar voice's direction. "Ha-awk?"

"I'm right here, BeeJ..." Pierce reassuringly replied and kept a comforting hold on his friend's shaking shoulder.

Captain Hunnicutt's body relaxed a bit, but he didn't stop trembling.

Winchester had been battling with a loosened board. He gasped in exasperation and gave the stubborn object one last tug.

Finally, the sound of straining nails filled the air . The board came away from window and the room brightened, considerably.

The Major immediately went to work on another, using the board in his hands for leverage.

Hawkeye's initial shock, over the NK's obviously abusive, inhumane treatment of his friend, was starting to wear off. Anger and outrage began to build, in its place. He heard another board creak and another nail squeak, and the room lightened enough for him to make out the details of his friend's bruised and battered, blood-streaked face. His vision blurred and his already empty stomach suddenly threatened to make itself even emptier. 'Why, BeeJ?' he silently demanded. ' Why-y?'

"I...I wouldn't...spill my guts...So... 'they'...decided...to spill them...for me."

Hawkeye was startled by his associate's sudden, unbelievably morbid, stab at humor. It was almost as if B.J. had been reading his mind. He stared down at his friend's tortured form. Anger and outrage continued to well up and seethe inside him. 'How could they! How could anyone!' Gawd how he _hated_ the North Koreans! He wanted to **kill** the bastards that had done this to his friend!

"Let it go, Hawk," Hunnicutt gently urged. "Just...let it go."

The look of hatred in Captain Pierce's tear-filled eyes was, momentarily, replacedby one of amazement. Damn! B.J. _was_ reading his mind! He gazed blurrily down at his good-natured, easy-going, gentle, generous, genuinely funny, much too forgiving at times, friend and wished that he _could_ 'just let it go.' But, recalling what an all-around great guy B.J. was, just made him _hate_ the North Koreans that much more, for the way they had treated–no, _tortured_ him.

Captain Pierce saw the sympathy and worry in Captain Hunnicutt's sad eyes. It seemed to him that B.J. was hurting more from the fact that his friends had to see him...like this...than he was from his physical injuries. He flashed his worried, mind-reading buddy a reassuring smile and softly promised, "I'll work on it."

B.J. was immensely relieved to hear that.

The Major removed a third board from one of their blocked up windows, discarded it with a victorious toss and then came hurrying back over to his bunkmates. "How is he–?" Winchester got his first good look at their pained companion. 'Oh...my...Lord!' the Bostonian inwardly exclaimed, and stood there, positively aghast at Captain Hunnicutt's current physical appearance.

Hunnicutt heard the question and was forced to smile. "_He_...is conscious...Charles...And _he_ is...'as _okay_…as can be expected…under these _vile_...circumstances'...thank you."

Winchester struggled to keep the contents of his own churning stomach down and forced himself to reply. "Is he?"

Hawkeye stared down at B.J.'s bound, bleeding wrists. His vision blurred again. Then he unclenched his teeth . "See if you can get that knot out."

The Major followed Captain Pierce's angry stare. His facial expression momentarily became as pained as their patient's. Then hepulled his sagging shoulders back, set his jaw firmly and forced himself to respond on a cheery note. "Yes...of course." Winchester dropped to his knees and reluctantly went to work on the knot.

Pierce started unbuttoning shirts.

"Anybody get...the license number...of that bus?" B.J. lightly inquired, following an uncomfortably long period of awkward silence.

Pierce and Winchester exchanged solemn glances. It was just like Radar had written. Captain Hunnicutt's method of coping with the horrors was 'to try and find some speck of good in them, and if nothing good, at least something humorous'. Well, far be it for them to hinder the good Captain in his quest for humor. Because they certainly couldn't foresee him finding 'some speck of good.'

"No," Hawkeye quickly came back. "But we did manage to get a _description_. It was a 1953 model North Korean Lieutenant with a 'flawless' English-speaking ability, and four rifle-toting goons."

"Wro-ong," Hunnicutt corrected, with the slightest of smiles. "It was a '53 NK Colonel…with the mental instability...of our 'beloved' Colonel Flagg...and two…rifle-toting goons."

"I stand corrected. Actually, I kneel corrected," Pierce realized. He shrugged the unbuttoned shirts off and started ripping them into strips.

"I tried...to convince him...that we weren't...spies...He was...equally determined...to convince me that...we were...He was more…'convincing'…than I was."

B.J. licked his dry lips and continued. "The Colonel knows...the whole story...who we are...how we got here...He refuses...to believe it...He really is...convinced...that we...are spies...And nothing...we...do or say...is gonna change his mind...Believe me...I know...I tried."

The panting Captain paused again, to try and catch his labored breath."I did...however…manage to... 'convince'... the Lieutenant...to help us...When they...come for you guys...I want you...to _promise_ me...that you'll cooperate...with Colonel Flaggu..._promise_ me...you'll forget the truth...and tell him...whatever it is...he wants to hear." B.J. gazed dazedly up at them both, "_Promise_ me…that you won't let them...do this…to you..." he pleaded, desperately.

Pierce and Winchester stared solemnly at one another, again. Then they turned back to their very 'convincing' companion and chorused, "We _promise_."

The now tremendously-relieved looking Captain Hunnicutt's dazed eyes closed.

Hawkeye set his improvised bandages aside and then carefully began his examination.

Hunnicutt's rapid, shallow respirations became even more rapid and shallow. Following a few grimaces and groans, he annoyedly inquired,"What a-are…you doing?"

"I'm trying to determine the extent of your injuries," Hawkeye replied, rather matter-of-factly and continued his examination. 'Just pretend you don't know him...just pretend you don't know him...' he kept repeating, to himself.

"Hawk...If you don't...knock it off...I'm gonna start…poking...ba-ack!"

"Relax," Hawkeye advised, andbegan raisinghis friend's dirty sweatshirt. "I'm almost through–" he stopped talking and stared down at his friend's badly beaten torso. B.J.'s stomach and rib cage were a mass of deep, red contusions. His already empty stomach threatened to empty itself again. Pierce was now too furious to even breathe. 'Those _dirty rat_ _bastards_!' he fumed, silently. But, then recalling B.J.'s words–and uncanny mind-reading abilities–and _his_ promise, Hawkeye quickly fought back the rage. The physician finished his initial examination and replaced his friend's sweatshirt. "Looks like you lost some ribs," he announced, trying his best to keep his voice calm and steady. "We're gonna have ta wrap 'em."

Winchester acknowledged him with a grave, solemn nod and continued to struggle with Captain Hunnicutt's bonds. The knot had been pulled so tight, the surgeon was beginning to seriously doubt that it could ever be undone.

Hunnicutt stiffened, suddenly, and doubled up, as another series of excruciating muscle spasms racked his badly-beaten body.

Hawkeye and Charles knelt there and watched, helplessly, as B.J. drew himself up into an even tighter ball and then groaned, involuntarily. The two doctors turned to one another and exchanged exceedingly grim glances.

"How long have you had the muscle spasms?" Pierce numbly inquired.

B.J. gave him a one-shouldered shrug.

Hawkeye stared sadly down at his hurting friend. "I'm not sure. But I think you've got a shoulder separation, to go with your busted ribs, and damaged kidney or kidneys," he announced and struggled to contain his anger and outrage. "Does your shoulder feel _broken_ to you?" Hawkeye inquired, with all the casualness of someone asking somebody if they'd care for a cup of coffee.

"Ah ha!" Charles suddenly exclaimed, as he finally got the cord untied.

Hunnicutt grimaced and groaned as the tension on his wrists was released. "No," he gasped. "But my left wrist...sure does!" B.J. gasped again, in horror, as he suddenly recognized the gaudy-orange flower pattern on the bright-blue strips of torn cloth in his friend's hands. "Ahh, Hawk...**that**...is your _favorite_...favorite shirt."

"**You** are my _favorite_ favorite friend," Captain Pierce quickly pointed out, in return.

B.J. flashed his _best_ buddy a sore, smile and then allowed his drooping eyes to close, completely. "The paisley print...and the polka-dots...are going...to cla-ash."

Hawkeye glanced down at the brightly-colored strips of cloth in his hands, and their starkly contrasting patterns. "Give a guy the shirts off your back," he lightly countered, "And all he does is complain, complain, complain."

The slight smile that was still playing on Captain Hunnicutt's pursed lips broadened into a grin. "My letters...in my helmet...could one of you...please read them…for me?"

Pierce and Winchester glanced at each other looking very grave and solemn again.

"Go ahead," Hawkeye urged. "I can handle this."

Major Winchester suddenly looked tremendously uncomfortable."The correspondence between a man and his wife–"

"It's okay, Charles," B.J. assured him. "I don't mind...honest."

The Major looked even more uncomfortable, but reluctantly reached out for the Captain's helmet. He removed the letters, sorted through them and found the one with the earliest postmark on it. He tore the envelope open, slid the letter out, unfolded it and then held it up to the light. He opened his mouth, to begin reading, and was interrupted by an agonizing groan.

Captain Hunnicutt let out another agonizing groan and drew himself back up into a tight ball. The pain became unendurable and he passed right out.

Charles set the letter down and quickly checked the motionless man out. "He's unconscious."

Hawkeye stared sadly down at B.J.'s now expressionless face for a few moments. "It's just as well," he realized, and went back to his bandaging. "See what you can do about scrounging up a splint. We'll set his wrist, wrap his ribs and get his shoulder straightened out."

Winchester gave their patient one last, deeply-worried look, and started crawling over to one of the splintered boards he had removed from the window.

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Speaking of rage...

Colonel Potter was angry...angry and upset...with the Army and himself. But, mostly with himself. He was a Commanding Officer. The lives of the people he _commanded_ were his responsibility. Being human, being fallible, making mistakes...well, that was a luxury he simply could not afford.

Had he made any mistakes? He kept reviewing his actions of the previous evening and kept coming to the same conclusion: Given the same circumstances, he would probably respond the exact same way. He would make the same command decisions.

And, given the chance, he would strangle the fallible idiot down at I-Corps, who botched up the bug-out and forced him to make those command decisions in the first place!

He exhaled an exasperated sigh and dropped his paint brush into a tall tin canister of solvent. It was no use! He was too upset to paint. The only reason for even trying to paint, was to help him pass the time while he was too upset to sleep. He set his artist's palate down beside his untouched breakfast tray and let out another weary sigh. He was even too upset to eat.

He removed the unfinished painting from his easel and set it off in a corner by itself , to dry.

His paintings of various camp personnel and his art supplies were the only belongings he had bugged-out with. Except, of course, for thesnapshots of his wife and grandson.

He gazed down at his 'work in progress'. Hawkeye Pierce's portrait was gonna be a real challenge for him. He'd known that all along. That was why he had waited so long to paint it. That was why he had been working so hard to improve his skills. Capturing that character's 'character' on canvas, would be like trying to rope a wild mustang with a wet noodle.

Speaking of capturing characters...

The Colonel hoped and fervently prayed that the three of them were guests of the North Koreans and **not** the Chinese.

He gave the drying painting's subject, in the bright-blue, gaudy-orange flowered shirt, one last very worried stare. The Colonel then turned around to begin putting his painting supplies away. He froze, seeing Sergeant Klinger standing in his open doorway, holding a pitcher of steaming coffee in his hand.

Their eyes met.

Klinger looked deeply concerned. "Sir, you haven't even touched your tray."

"I'll eat later, son. I'm feeling a little off my feed right now. Have you seen any of the troops up and about?"

The Sergeant appeared even more worried. "Yes, sir. In fact, a lot of our people are over in the Mess Tent right now."

"How do they seem to be taking it?"

Klinger shot his C.O. another worried look and then turned stern. "They seem to be taking it just like their _Colonel _is taking it. They aren't eating or sleeping, either."

Potter found the Sergeant's statement both troubling, and enlightening. He gave Klinger a grateful nod, "I get your message, son." He turned to the window as the sun cast its first warm, glowing rays into the room. "See if you can track down the 8063'rds Officer of the Day. I want the two of you to set up some kind of joint Duty Roster." If he can get his people back to work it might help to keep their minds off their missing associates.

"Yes, sir!" his Sergeant acknowledged, with a smile.

"I'm going over to file the MIA reports and find out the latest from Panmunjom. After that, I'm going over to the mess tent for a nice big breakfast, then following that, I intend to return here and sleep till noon." He gave his very wise Sergeant a grateful smile. "We're all going to sleep till noon," he added. "That's an order!"

Klinger's smile broadened into a grin. "Yes, sir!"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Potter stared at the 8063rd's company clerk in absolute confusion. "What do you mean I have to use a 'mild' form? A mild form of what!" he impatiently demanded.

The clerk cringed, and then began flipping through his filing cabinet. "Sorry, sir, but according to Army regulations, Article 4, Section 7, paragraph 3: 'The disappearance of a noncombatant shall not be constituted a M.I.A.' So the use of MIA Form-2280 would not be considered appropriate, sir. Article 4, Section 6K, paragraph 5 states: 'That only the disappearance of combat personnel, shall be deemed as missing in action. The disappearance of noncombatants shall be considered as missing in the line of duty,' which requires that M.I.L.D. Form-5782 be used." He found the appropriate paperwork, pulled 9 copies of the MILD forms from the cabinet and handed them to the Colonel, along with a half dozen sheets of carbon paper. "Here you go, sir. Regulations also require that 3 copies be made for each report submitted."

Potter stared down at the stack of paperwork in utter disbelief. No wonder they had never received their 'bug out' orders! Indeed! Itwas a wonder the American Army ever got anything accomplished at all! It was three times as hard to fight a war in _triplicate_! The only regulation the Army really needed was one that would ban ninety percent of its regulations! "Sergeant, I want to speak to General Mendser, Head of Negotiations, U.N. Command Post, Panmunjom."

"Yes, sir," the soldier acknowledged, looking and sounding duly impressed. He began reaching for his radio phone, but then hesitated, remembering the time. "_Now_, Colonel?"

"_Now_, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir."

End of Chapter Seven


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

'Right shoulder immobilized, ribs wrapped, left forearm splinted, wrists bandaged, knees slightly flexed to relieve tension on abdominal muscles,' Hawkeye quickly completed his mental checklist and then knelt there, helplessly, beside his now nearly comatose colleague. Was that it, then? Was that all that two highly skilled surgeons could do? 'Unfortunately, for now…yes.'

Major Winchester was kneeling on Captain Hunnicutt's opposite side, feeling equally helpless. Sunlight flooded the room now and he could see, all too clearly, that their patient's complexion was turning grayer, by the minute. B.J.'s breathing, unbelievably, was becoming even more rapid, and irregular. Was that it, then? Was that all that two highly skilled surgeons could do? 'Under these 'vile' circumstances...yes.'

Captain Hunnicutt moaned softly, as another muscle spasm racked his body. He groaned again and then made a feeble attempt to draw his body back into a ball.

His doctors, however, held him down. It didn't take much effort on their part.

Pierce took their moaning patient's pulse. "He's awful shocky. We gotta get him somewhere where we can perform an exploratory."

Winchester glanced dubiously back at him. That was a pretty tall order, considering their present circumstances. His gaze returned to their patient.

The moaning man's trembling body was rigid, his bruised jaw tightly clenched.

"Right now, I would settle for just being able to give him something for the pain," Charles quietly confided and brushed the sweat from the Captain's cool, clammy brow. The sad surgeon spotted Hunnicutt's helmet out of the corner of his eye and suddenly brightened. Perhaps there was something they could give him for the pain, after all.

He snatched the opened letter up and began reading aloud, "My Darling, B.J., Congratulations! Your plan, for getting your daughter to recognize her father, is really going well. Truth is, it may be going too well," he paused to see what effect, if any, his reading was having on the letter's recipient.

B.J.'s muscles were now a tad less taut. His respirations, while still ridiculously rapid and shallow, had become a bit more regular.

Winchester was both pleased and relieved. "I followed your plan, to the letter. First, I took the snapshot you sent and had two dozen enlargements made. Next, I took and tacked them up, all around the house, right at Erin's eye level, just as you specified.

Then, every time I caught her looking at one of them, I'd smile and tell her, 'Daddy, Erin. That's your Daddy.'

After three solid days of this, with no visible or audible response on her part, I was beginning to seriously doubt that your ingenious little plan would work.

Until this morning, at the supermarket… I was pushing her in the shopping cart, down a crowded aisle, when she suddenly points to this very short man with a mustache, and then exclaims, to this total stranger, 'Dawd-dy! Dawd-dy! Dawd-dy!'

Talk about embarrassing! I could've crawled right under the vegetable counter! Honestly, I don't know whose face was redder, mine...or that poor priest's," Charles grinned and glanced up, to study B.J.'s reaction to what he'd just read.

The Captain's bruised lips were smiling.

The Major realized he was getting through, and his own grin broadened. 'Humph! Who needs morphine!' Charles concluded and continued to dispense his own particular brand of pain reliever.

"Of course, it was probably just my imagination. But, I could've sworn your daughter's big, innocent, blue eyes had just the tiniest glint of 'mischief' in them. I'm certain Miss Erin Hunnicutt has inherited her father's sense of humor. And so, I, too, have come up with a plan. It's simple. When you walk in the door, just deliver one of you classic puns, and Erin will have no problem recognizing _you_, as her 'Dawddy'…."

While Charles was administering the painkiller, Hawkeye was coming up with a plan for getting their patient some desperately needed medical attention.

Captain Pierce did not allow himself to think of what would happen to Captain Hunnicutt, if his little scheme were to fail. He gazed sadly down at his friend's tortured body, until his vision began to blur.

The doctor regretted ever having used his surgical skills to save North Korean lives. The North Koreans were inhuman! What they had done to B.J. was inhuman! 'Hell! This whole damn war is inhuman!' he realized, bitterly.

It had certainly sucked some of the _humanity_ out of him.

Hawkeye had always considered himself to be the 'sensitive' sort.

The wounded soldiers that continually came to them weren't just bodies on a table, to _him_. They were people…with names and faces…with mothers and fathers…with wives and kids…with hopes and dreams.

Pierce had always felt a tremendous amount of compassion for these poor soldiers, and their families. Well, that was, up until about a month ago.

Lance Corporal David Qualman was the first.

The night Davey died, the doctor noticed that he didn't _feel_…anything. There was no compassion for the young man's parents, Anna and Gregory…who were never gonna see their son again. No thought was spared for the soldier's young bride, Marissa…who had just been made a widow. No consideration was given for the guy's one year old kid, Davey Jr.…who was gonna have to grow up without a father. And, no mourning the fact that there would be one less name on the fire department roster in Bristol, Tennessee.

Hawkeye had convinced himself that it was because it was going on three in the morning, and he was just _too_ _tired_ to care.

But then, it happened again…and again…and again.

He couldn't remember the others because he no longer paid attention to their names. The soldiers…on the tables…Hawkeye never looked at their faces anymore.

And it was _killing_ him! Because these young men _deserved_ his compassion!

But, so many other soldiers had come before them…

And…there was just none left to give.

Hawkeye snapped back to reality and blinked his vision clear. "Charles, tie my hands back up for me, will you?" he quickly and quietly requested.

Charles stopped reading, right in mid-sentence. "If you wish to stay with him, I can go chat with the Colonel."

"Thanks, but you have no knowledge whatsoever of anything of military importance, remember?"

Winchester put the unfinished letter down and set about tying Pierce's wrists behind his back. Something suddenly occurred to him. "Neither do you."

"Yes," Captain Pierce was forced to admit, "but my imagination is more...imaginative than yours."

The Major managed a skeptical grunt. "Let us hope." He finished tying the cord and then gave his audience a quick examination.

"How is he?" Hawkeye nervously inquired.

Charles glanced up, looking very grave and solemn. The door to their hut flew open with another forceful kick and he was spared from having to answer. He quickly shoved the letter he had been reading under Hunnicutt's helmet, with the rest and then he watched, as two NK soldiers came stomping into the room...and up to him.

Seeing that they intended to take Charles, Hawkeye quickly scrambled into a corner and began screaming, "No! No! Don't take me! No! Please? Leave me alone!"

It worked.

The North Koreans changed their target and their course. The pair stomped up to the pleading, cowering captive and latched onto the man's trembling arms.

"No-o! No-o!" Pierce repeated and thrashed around in a desperate attempt to pull free of their grasp. "Start reading again and don't stop 'til I get back!" he shouted over his shoulder, as he was shoved up to the exit.

Charles watched the North Koreans haul their terrified prisoner victoriously out into the yard. The door was then slammed and barred, blocking them from his view. Any doubts the Major may have had, concerning Captain Pierce's ability to handle the situation, disappeared along with them.

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The captive was dragged, kicking and screaming, into the interrogation hut.

Once inside, the American immediately shut up and just stood there, quietly, staring at the back of a young North Korean officer's uniform. Captain Pierce clenched his teeth as all the anger and frustration and _hatred_ that had been building up inside him threatened to explode in the young NK Lieutenant's direction.

The Lieutenant slowly turned to face him.

Their eyes met, briefly.

The young man then quickly looked away and motioned for the third American prisoner to be seated.

Pierce's posterior was promptly slammed down on a chair.

"Captain Hunnicutt," the young officer finally spoke, following a full minute of solemn silence, "How…is he?"

"He's **dying**!" Hawkeye bitterly exclaimed, and had to choke back his grief. It was the first time that he had actually admitted it.

Everyone in the room jerked, startled, as the door suddenly flew open and another NK officer came stomping into the hut, snarling under his breath.

The NK Colonel shouted out several annoyed orders to the soldiers in the room and then returned their salutes. The officer's beady little eyes finally riveted on the new American 'spy'. Reaik saw the hatred in his prisoner's eyes and managed an aloof sneer.

Hawkeye clenched his fists so hard he thought for sure the bones in his fingers were gonna snap. If his hands weren't tied behind his back, they'd have been wrapped around the sneering slimeball's miserable lousy neck!

The Colonel gave the new prisoner his intense glare.

But, it didn't unnerve the American, in the least. Hawkeye was simply feeling too enraged, and too overcome with grief at the moment, to be scared.

Reaik gave up trying to stare this prisoner down and turned to his interpreter, to pass a rather lengthy message along.

The Lieutenant drew a deep breath in and opened his mouth to speak.

"Hold it," Hawkeye advised. "I want the Colonel there to know, from the start, that I don't intend to tell him _anything_ unless he can guarantee that medical attention will be provided for my friend..._immediate_ medical attention!"

The young Lieutenant looked extremely disappointed. "Then...the Captain did not…"

"No-o," Pierce assured him. "The Captain did. And, I promised him that I would cooperate."

The Lieutenant's look turned to one of confusion.

"This is what is known in gambling vernacular as a bluff, Lieutenant. Please, translate it for me."

The young officer obligingly turned to his C.O. and passed the 'bluff' along.

The Colonel gave the American 'spy' a sickeningly smug look, before sinking confidently down onto his chair and folding his arms. He glared across the table at his prisoner for a few moments before making his reply.

"The Colonel wishes to remind you that you are hardly in a position to be making demands."

Pierce returned the look. "Perhaps not. But tell your Colonel that I believe that time is on my side."

The interpreter did.

The senior NK officer's smug look was replaced by one of annoyance.

There was an ominous silence.

At last, the Colonel's smug look returned and he spoke.

"The Colonel has consented to your demands. However," the interpreter paused to give his C.O. a disgusted glare, "he does not intend to deliver until _after_ you have delivered the information he is seeking. He says, he trusts you will be sincere with him and cooperate. The Colonel believes that time is on _his_ side. "

"Okay," Hawkeye reluctantly agreed, feeling very uncertain about the Colonel's sincerity. "I'm gonna need some maps."

The young officer turned to one of the guards and shouted out an order.

The soldier snapped to attention and stomped out of the room.

Colonel Flaggu propped his feet up on the table, leaned back in his chair and smugly began his interrogation.

"First," the Lieutenant translated, "the Colonel wishes to know who you are and what your position with the C.I.A. is. "

Pierce leaned back in his chair, pulled his slumped, weary shoulders back and started drawing on his 'imaginative' imagination. "My name is Benjamin Franklin Pierce," he confessed, "and I have no connection, whatsoever, with the C.I.A.."

The Lieutenant gave the prisoner a warning glance.

"The three of us are, however, all members of the infamous A.M.A.. "

Flaggu seemed most interested in this latest development.

Captain Pierce continued, "My 'code name' is Hawkeye. And I am known in the 'business' as the man of a dozen disguises," he glanced down at the six shirts he was still wearing. "Better make that the man of a half-dozen disguises," he quickly corrected.

The prisoner glanced at the butts of his guards' rifles, and felt his stomach turn. He gazed down at the NK Colonel's scuffed boots, resting there on the table and his stomach wretched again. "Why isn't he taking notes? Tell him I want him to take notes!" he bitterly demanded. "Because, if he doesn't take notes, he's liable to forget some of this! And this information is just too important…too valuable to forget any of it!"

The angry American sprang to his feet and glared menacingly across the table at the man mainly responsible for beating B.J. to death. "If this information is important enough to _kill_ someone for, then it's certainly important enough to be copied down! Every…precious…word…" Pierce suddenly remembered his second promise to B.J., and stopped talking. He shrugged the guards' hands from his shoulders and sank, submissively, back down onto his chair. "And tell him to keep his boots under the table! Where I won't have to look at them!" he requested, looking and sounding totally disgusted.

The young Lieutenant gave the American a sympathetic glance and passed his requests along.

Colonel Flaggu's face filled with indignation. He slid his feet from the table, and pulled his pistol out.

The dispatched soldier returned with some maps just then.

'Flaggu' muttered a few threats and, reluctantly, returned his gun to its holster.

The Lieutenant gave the American another warning glance. "He has decided to overlook your disrespectfulness, _this_ time."

Pierce just stared blankly down at the dirt floor beneath his feet.

Flaggu unfolded the maps across the table and motioned for his men to free the prisoner's wrists.

Hawkeye was jerked roughly up out of his seat. The cord was quickly removed from his wrists. He had an overwhelming desire to repay these creeps for what they had done to his fellow Captain.

Speaking of his fellow Captain…

Pierce recalled his second promise to B.J., again...and the look on his friend's face when he made it...and forced himself to point to an imaginary troop emplacement on one of the maps instead. "Here! There are over 75,000 Greek and Turkish forces stationed here." He moved his finger over a fraction of an inch, "Strategically positioned right next to them are two armored divisions and an artillery embankment…"

The A.M.A. 'spy' proceeded to give the NK Colonel an _imaginative_ account of various troop numbers and locations, making sure to use a lot of military jargon. He also tried to include the word 'strategic' as many times as possible. It had a certain 'cloak and dagger' ring to it.

Hawkeye stood there and watched as another NK soldier transcribed his whole farcical confession, complete with map drawings of the imaginary U.N. troop positions. He noticed that Flaggu seemed especially impressed by the large numbers of enemy forces.

The Captain finished his delivery and turned to the Colonel. "Okay. Now, how about that immediate medical attention we agreed upon?"

Flaggu completely ignored him.

The young Lieutenant hung his head and regrettably announced, "We have no medical personnel or facilities available here."

Hawkeye stared incredulously back at him, looking too furious to speak.

The Colonel's sneer curled into a cruel grin. He picked Winchester's medical bag up and tossed it at the American, along with a few sarcastic words of advice, and an incredibly evil chuckle.

The young officer drew his head back up and forced himself to translate his C.O.'s taunt. "Since...since your associate claims to be a doctor," he hesitated, "the Colonel suggests that you have him attend to himself."

Hawkeye fought the urge to lunge for the Colonel's slimy throat. Instead, he clutched the medical bag tightly and calmly requested to be taken back to his hut.

The young officer translated the request.

His C.O. nodded, disinterestedly.

The Lieutenant looked extremely relieved and personally escorted their prisoner out into the yard. "Will you be able to give him the necessary treatment with what is in there?" he wondered, motioning to the medical bag.

"I don't know," Pierce told him, as the two of them headed towards the detention hut at a run. "That depends on what we've got."

They reached the hut.

Hawkeye raised the bar and then kicked the door open.

B.J.'s motionless body appeared.

Upon seeing that his friend's chest was still rising and falling, Captain Pierce exhaled an audible sigh of relief. "He's alive!"

"Barely," Winchester grimly added. The letter slipped from his hands. "How on earth did you manage to convince them to give you my medical bag?" he wonderingly inquired and quickly snatched said item from Pierce's grasp. The Major then opened the case and dumped its entire contents onto Captain Hunnicutt's chest.

Hawkeye gazed down at all the surgical instruments and medical equipment in amazement. It was like having a M.A.S.H. Unit in a bag! "Charles, if your Grandfather were alive today, I'd kiss him!"

Winchester gave him an uncertain glance, and calmly continued to sort through and set up his surgical instruments. "We'll need something to sterilize these," he suddenly realized and turned to the Lieutenant. "Do you have any alcohol?"

"I could bring you that bottle of wine that my men took from you," the young officer offered.

"Ye-es. Thank you. That will do nicely," Winchester acknowledged, his voice filled with regret.

"Is there anything else that you may need?" the young man asked, as he turned to the door.

"We could use some more light" Pierce told him, "and maybe some sheets or blankets?"

Winchester finished taking inventory and frowned. "And a spool of 3/0 surgical thread," he regrettably added.

The Lieutenant looked rather at a loss.

Captain Pierce was devastated. But then, he glanced down at his chest and brightened. "Surgical thread is just fancy silk thread," he quickly reminded his colleague and started unraveling the hem of one of his finest, 'fanciest' Japanese silk shirts.

"Will that be all then?" the young officer wondered.

"Yes," Charles assured him. "And plea-ease hurry!"

The Lieutenant nodded and quickly disappeared out into the yard.

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Margaret smiled down at her patient as he slowly opened his eyes and blinked them into focus. "Good morning, Lieutenant."

The young man managed to return her smile. "Good...morning...Major," he whispered back.

"Dr. Eaden was just in to examine you. He says everything looks good and he thinks you're going to be just fine."

The Lieutenant looked rather relieved and then curious. "Dr. Eaden? Is he the one who patched me up last night?"

The nurse's smile vanished. "No. Major Eaden is the senior medical officer with the 8063rd M.A.S.H. unit."

Her patient looked perplexed. "I thought you were with the 4077th?"

"I am," Margaret assured him. "Actually, right now I'm with both."

The Lieutenant looked even more confused.

"This is the village of Seijo. Both the 8063rd and the 4077th are here."

He nodded understandingly, and then looked concerned. "And what about my men? Are they here, too?"

His nurse's smile returned. "Yes. Last I heard, their orders were to stay here with you and await further orders."

He managed another smile, as well.

"Private Benson has been at your side the whole time. He'd still be here if I hadn't pulled rank on him and ordered him to get some breakfast and sleep."

Her patient's eyes watered and he stared down at his heavily bandaged chest. "Benson's a good man," he softly admitted.

Margaret could see that Lieutenant Ames was obviously deeply touched by the young soldier's loyalty. "I've always heard that it takes one to know one," she teased. "How's the pain?"

"Bearable, thanks," he assured her. "If you see the doctor who put me back together last night, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell him to drop by sometime before they ship me out of here. I'd like to thank him, _in person_, for saving my life."

'Wouldn't we all,' Margaret thought to herself and forced one last, sad smile. "I'd be more than happy to tell him, Lieutenant," she sincerely replied. 'More than happy...'

End of Chapter Eight


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Hawkeye gasped in annoyance, as the beam of light began to waver and stray from B.J.'s recently 'opened' back. He glanced up at their unwilling surgical assistant, and his tightly shut eyes, and gasped again. "Excuse me, Lieutenant, but, if you don't _look_, how are you gonna know _where_ to shine the light?"

The young officer couldn't argue with the logic of that, so he forced his eyes back open and then reluctantly refocused them, and the powerful beam of his flashlight, on the precise center of Major Winchester's recent…incision.

"Where did you ever learn to speak English so fluently?" Pierce wondered, in an attempt to get their pale-looking assistant's mind off the gory proceedings.

Winchester held out his right hand and Pierce slapped a forceps into his open palm.

"I attended an American College for four years and received my Bachelors Degree in Electrical Engineering."

Captain Pierce was impressed. "Which one?"

"California State Polytechnic."

"Cal-Poly?" Pierce was even more impressed. "That's a tough school. And English is a tough language. I know. I've been speaking it for over 35 years, now and I still haven't mastered it like you," he lightly confessed and slapped another hemostat into the Major's open palm.

"I wish that I had never mastered it. If it were not for my ability to speak your language so fluently, I would still be working at a hydroelectric dam in the North. When the Soviets learned of my ability, I was drafted to interrogate British and American prisoners. The part I hate most about my work is that I must have Colonel Reaik as my superior. He is a very..._brutal_ man."

"Tell us about it," Hawkeye sarcastically suggested and stared down at B.J.'s badly-beaten, no-o, _brutally_-beaten body.

An interminably long, solemn silence ensued.

As he watched the two American medical officers working frantically, and most skillfully, to save their dying friend, the Lieutenant's whoozy feeling gradually turned to one of awe.

All the instrument exchanging and clamping and retracting and suctioning and suturing was smoothly and efficiently accomplished…without so much as a single spoken word. It was as though the two surgeons were of the same mind and body. Captain Pierce paused, from time to time, to check their patient's airway and pulse. Major Winchester got up every five to ten minutes, to uncramp his legs.

Speaking of whom…

Charles knelt there, hunched over Captain Hunnicutt's unconscious body, and drew on all of his surgical expertise to locate and repair the renal 'diversion'.

He had weighed all the pros and cons of the various surgical procedures carefully and had finally determined that a posterior subcostal approach would be best, all the way around…especially under such 'vile', unsterile circumstances.

And so, the surgeon had made his initial incision between the 11th and 12th ribs, carefully transecting the subcutaneous tissue.

The Major was immensely relieved to find his delicate appendages so responsive. After days of little sleep and even less nourishment, it sent his faltering spirit soaring to find that he hadn't _lost his touch_. Apparently, the abuse his hands had recently suffered had caused no permanent damage.

The deeply-contused skin and muscles were incised from the tip of the 12th rib back towards the xiphisternum. Both the intrinsic iliocostalis and latissimus dorsi muscle groups were detached, to reveal contused rib bone and torn rib cartilage.

The physician then quickly severed the 12th rib's costovertebral ligament and inferiorly hinged the freed bone against its lumbocostal ligament, successfully exposing their patient's left retroperitoneal cavity.

Finally, Charles sliced open the blood-engorged perirenal fascia, which enclosed the Captain's left, leaking, kidney.

'Good Lord!' Infarction of the renal artery had caused massive damage to the parenchyma…too much damage. The surgeon's tired eyes finished a fourth exploration of their patient's renal bed, and then reluctantly returned to the 10 centimeter long, reddish-brown, bleeding and badly-damaged bean-shaped organ that was B.J.'s left kidney. "The damage is too extensive to attempt a repair at this time," he regrettably announced. "I fear a radical nephrectomy is in order."

"Agreed!" his equally concerned colleague quickly concurred.

The Major hesitated.

Hawkeye saw his fellow surgeon kneeling there, looking like he was second-guessing himself. "Just **do** it, Charles! Pulse is 128 and thready! BPs unpalpable! He's bleeding out! I'm sure Peg would rather get B.J. back **alive**, with _one_ kidney, than get him back _in a body bag_, with **two**!"

Pierce's sharply spoken statements sparked the stalled doctor back into action.

Following a thorough inspection of their patient's irreparably damaged vital organ, the left ureter was clearly identified and dissected to the level of iliacs. The surgeon then placed two clamps on the leaking urine-filled vessel, distally, and the proximal portion was brought up into the operative field.

He then approached the pedicle, anteriorly. Ligation and division of the gonadal vein exposed a single renal artery. The Major medially retracted the vena cava, and the damaged artery was also quickly clamped and tied off. With all visible vessels clamped, both the superior and inferior poles of the kidney were dissected free from the surrounding tissue.

Moments later, the no longer attached, and no longer bleeding, organ was removed.

The Major immediately began to close up their operations 'loose ends'. Captain Pierce's 'fancy' silk thread proved unsuitable for some of the more delicate suturing. What the surgeon really needed were some 0/0 and 2/0 nonabsorbable ligatures. "Captain Hunnicutt will be requiring some corrective surgery."

Captain Pierce didn't care. He couldn't seem to stop smiling. The hemorrhaging was stopped. The radical nephrectomy had been successfully completed.

B.J.'s dying was no longer a done deal. His _favorite_ favorite friend now stood a slim chance of making it. 'And,' the physician silently reminded himself, 'slim is better than none!'

Their patient's previously retracted 12th rib was allowed to assume its natural position. The muscles were closed in two layers. The subcutaneous tissue was approximated and the skin was resealed with subcuticular mattress sutures.

The Major exhaled an exhausted sigh and sat back on his butt to uncramp his legs, once more.

"Good going, Charles!"

Winchester's tired eyes sparkled victoriously. "Yes," he immodestly admitted. "In fact, the only one who could have performed the operation any better…" he paused, the sparkle left his eyes, "…is Captain Hunnicutt, himself."

Hawkeye gave the uncharacteristically humble Major a look of wonder and admiration. "I think we can rule out any further hemorrhaging," he announced, looking and sounding very pleased. "If he were still bleeding internally, he'd be dead by now."

"Excellent!" Charles exclaimed, delightedly.

Hawkeye finished bandaging B.J.'s incision and glanced up at their 'lighting engineer', "What happens to us now that your Colonel has his information?"

"The Chinese are coming here this afternoon to pick up the information…"

"…And the 'spies'?" Pierce anxiously interrupted.

The Lieutenant smiled and shook his head no. "The 'spies' will no longer be here. They will have made their escape by then."

Hawkeye glanced curiously up at their ally. "They will?"

The young officer nodded.

The Captain looked even more curious. "How?"

"We received word a short time ago that U.N. Negotiators at Panmunjom are willing to exchange 12 North Korean prisoners…" he hesitated, his eyes sparkling with excitement, "…for three American medical officers," he finished and watched the two doctors' reactions to his announcement. He saw them staring uncertainly at each other and felt rather disappointed. He had expected this news to make them _happy_.

"How far are we from Panmunjom?" Pierce inquired, nervously.

"What difference does it make?" Charles quickly came back. "He could never tolerate all that jolting around. If we take him for a bumpy jeep ride now, we may just as well be putting a gun to his head. In fact, a gun would be quicker and more merciful." He aimed his grim gaze up at the young officer. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant but _this_ prisoner cannot be 'exchanged' just yet. He cannot even be moved. His condition is extremely critical."

The Lieutenant looked even more disappointed and gasped in frustration, "But, if he remains here, the Chinese will take him!"

"Us," Hawkeye corrected.

"All of us," Charles added.

"Charles, there's no need for you to have to end up in the clutches of those Chinese savages."

"I do not intend to leave my patient."

"Well, I do not intend to leave my best friend!"

Winchester calmly turned back to the Lieutenant. "All of us," he determinedly repeated.

Hawkeye gave the uncharacteristically 'unselfish' Major another look of wonder and admiration. 'Amazing!' he thought, to himself. 'Absolutely amazing!' While the war was turning some men into animals, it was transforming at least one pompous ass into a decent, likeable human being.

The Lieutenant let out another gasp of frustration. "But, I cannot let that happen! I promised the Captain that I would not allow any of you to fall into Chinese hands!"

His audience just sat there, quietly and calmly.

The young North Korean stared down at the Americans, in utter amazement. How could they remain so calmly disinterested in their fate? "You remind me of three characters that I once met in a book."

"You don't strike me as the type who goes in for the comics," Pierce teased.

The Lieutenant was forced to smile, again. "The characters were not from the American comics, but from the French classics, and their motto was 'All for one…'" he paused, to stare sadly down at the unconscious Captain, "'And one...for all...'" his words trailed off and his smile vanished.

"Ah, yes. The brave, the bold, the dashing, the daring _King's bodyguards_," Pierce dreamily realized. "Thank you, Lieutenant. I'm flattered to find that we remind you of the Musketeers. I mean, we usually give people the impression of three 'other' notable personages. Personages being a fancy term for 'stooges'..." he lightly tacked on and turned to his colleague, "How 'bout you, Charles? Aren't you flattered?"

"I am appalled, to find myself compared to one of those inebriated roughians."

Pierce gave him an annoyed glare and then turned back to the Lieutenant. "The Major is more of a stooge then a musketeer."

And it was Winchester's turn to look annoyed.

"But a _debonair_ stooge," Hawkeye quickly clarified.

The young officer exhaled a third gasp of total exasperation. "Please, gentlemen, I am afraid you do not understand the seriousness of the situation. You will not leave. Yet you cannot stay! I cannot let you fall into their hands!"

Pierce and Winchester forced themselves to face each other…and the serious situation. They sat there on the dirt floor of their hut, crouched beside their critically injured companion, and desperately tried to think of some way out...for all three of them...alive!

"Perhaps there is some place where you could hide us until the Captain's condition improves to a point that would permit travel?" Charles suggested, at long last.

Pierce nodded the plan approvingly.

The Lieutenant looked extremely thoughtful for a very long time, and then, suddenly, brightened. "There is an abandoned hut down by the river, about one mile from here." His brow wrinkled with worry. "Can he make it that far?"

"If we take it slow and easy," Pierce reasoned. "Can you find us something we can use for a stretcher?"

The young officer nodded and started heading for the exit.

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Pierce and Winchester glanced uncertainly at one another. Then they turned to stare at the young NK Lieutenant in utter disbelief.

"And you really expect your Colonel to believe that?" Hawkeye asked, sounding as amazed as he appeared.

The young officer gave them a definite nod. "Colonel Reaik is obsessed with your C.I.A.. He believes theses fiendishly clever people to be capable of perpetrating any thing anywhere at any time. Rescuing three of their top 'spies' from an enemy camp, in broad daylight, will not even strike him as being all that spectacular. When I mention it to him, he will probably admit that he was expecting it to happen."

The two Americans glanced at one another again, looking even more amazed and somewhat bewildered.

"Now we really must leave before Reaik wakes up. I remain in charge only while he is sleeping," the young man reminded them. "Is everything all set?"

Winchester pulled a blanket up over Captain Hunnicutt's face and head while Hawkeye gently set some shovels across his heavily bandaged ribs. Then they each picked up one end of their patient's stretcher, before giving the young officer their nods.

The Lieutenant looked pleased and reluctantly trained his pistol on them. "One more thing. This is a _burial_ detail. So it might be best if you were to remain as solemn and as silent as possible."

They took the hint and immediately turned sad and solemn...very sad and extremely solemn.

The young officer threw the door open and motioned for them to carry their friend's stretcher out into the yard.

They did and were joined by two more NK soldiers with rifles.

"If these two men appear overly tired," the Lieutenant told them, "it is because they spent an exhausting evening trying to 'convince' Captain Hunnicutt to be cooperative." He saw the two Americans staring disgustedly, but solemnly at the two fatigued North Korean soldiers. "I chose them for this detail because I felt they were perfect for the part!" He shot the Americans a questioning look. "Do you not agree?"

They glanced at each other, then turned to him and nodded...solemnly.

He appeared tremendously pleased and motioned for them to 'carry on' with the 'burial detail'.

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Their solemn little procession came to a halt in a small clearing just out of eye and earshot from the North Korean Army's command post.

"Start digging," the Lieutenant suggested. "We have to make it look good."

Pierce and Winchester set their friend's stretcher gently down on the floor of the clearing. Then they grabbed the shovels and reluctantly began digging B.J.'s…grave.

The physically exhausted pair got a hole two foot deep dug in the hard, clay earth of the clearing and were beginning to wonder just how 'good' the young officer intended for them to make it look.

The Lieutenant saw that they are growing tired of digging and decided it was time for the C.I.A.'s helicopter to show up. "Fui-won em-chi ei!" he suddenly shouted, and pointed to the sky above and behind the two soldiers' heads. "Sho-lan-kou!" he ordered.

The soldiers whirled around and raised their rifle barrels to the sky.

But, before they could get any shots off at the imaginary C.I.A. chopper, Pierce and Winchester whacked them over the head with their shovels.

Hawkeye gave the soldier he'd just knocked unconscious a quick, careful examination. Then, both satisfied and disappointed that he'd done no 'lasting' damage, he got to his feet. "That was for B.J.!" he bitterly announced.

"Likewise!" Charles informed his fallen foe. "I hope their heads ache for a week."

"At least two!" Hawkeye agreed. Then he quickly stepped over to lift the blanket off his friend's face and check him out. "I'm ashamed to say this, but that gave me a great deal of personal satisfaction."

"Likewise," Charles admitted, equally shamefully.

"The river is just on the other side of this clearing," the Lieutenant informed them and pointed off into the distance. "Follow it upstream for about three-quarters of a mile until you reach the hut. Once you reach the hut, try to stay out of sight. I will be along sometime after dark with a few provisions, such as food, water and more blankets," he paused, to shoot them a concerned stare. "Take care until then," he advised.

The Americans returned his look.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," Hawkeye sincerely said.

The young North Korean hung his head and stared sadly down at the Captain's motionless form. "I am merely fulfilling a promise that I made…a promise that I wish I had made _much_ sooner." He forced himself to face the two silent Americans again. "If one of you would strike me, also, not only will it lend credence to my story, but it shall give me a great deal of personal satisfaction, as well." He could see that the two men obviously found the thought very distasteful. "Please? We have not much time. I must get back and make my report before the Chinese arrive."

The American officers looked even more reluctant.

The Lieutenant gasped in frustration and shoved his pistol at them, butt-first. "One of you must strike me across the face with this, now!" he ordered, sharply.

They continued to refuse to oblige him.

"Look, perhaps you could step on a rake?" Charles helpfully suggested.

Hawkeye nodded. "Or walk into a door."

"Or some such thing as that."

The young officer let out another frustrated sigh and gave up on them. He stared distastefully down at the gun in his hand for several moments, then shut his eyes tightly and struck himself, very forcefully, across the face.

The American doctors winced.

The Lieutenant let out an involuntary cry of pain and dropped to his knees.

They reached the dazed young man's sides, instantly and steadied him.

The young officer opened his eyes, shook his slightly spinning head and smiled sadly down at the unconscious, tortured man on the stretcher. "That was for you, Captain," he announced, somewhat groggily, and raised a hand to his right cheek, where a large, red welt was rapidly forming. He noticed his efforts had also produced a bloodied nose, and seemed even more pleased.

The two physicians glanced uncertainly at one another, and then pulled him to his feet.

"Are you all right?" Hawkeye wondered.

"Yes," the Lieutenant assured him. "In fact, I feel better now than I did a few minutes ago."

The two doctors exchanged glances again and were forced to smile.

"Now, go!" the young man ordered, sternly.

"Are you certain _you_ won't be in any danger because of us?" Winchester anxiously inquired.

The young man gave them both a warm, grateful smile. "Go! And do not worry about me!" he advised and motioned for them to take off.

They stared uncertainly back at him for a few moments. Then they carefully picked their friend's stretcher up and started off across the sunlit clearing, in the direction of the river...and their hideout.

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'Oh, the river is deep and the river is wide, hallelujah,' Hawkeye sang to himself, as they trudged slowly along...very slowly, because their footing was quite treacherous. 'Milk and honey on the other side,' he felt his stomach growl and stopped singing.

The two Americans took turns slipping and sliding along the rain-soaked bank. Another thing slowing them up was that they were totally exhausted. Their extremely weakened conditions forced them to set the heavy stretcher down, from time-to-time, just to keep from dropping it, or themselves, onto the damp, hard ground.

At one of these rest stops, Pierce collapsed onto a soggy log and breathed the crisp, fresh air into his lungs. It revived him. His sensitive nose picked up the overwhelming odors of mud and rotting vegetation. His ears suddenly registered the sweet, melodious singing of birds, perched in the tree tops overhead. And his back, he noticed his back felt toasty-warm, as the sunlight fell upon it and his shoulders, soothing his aching, tired muscles.

He gazed up at the sky, so clear and so beautifully blue. 'What a lovely Spring day! Who would ever believe that a beautiful day such as this could be marred by such ugly circumstances as these?' he wondered to himself and then stared down at his critically injured friend until the hurt built up inside him again and he was forced to look away. 'You've got to make it, Beej…' He heard Charles clearing his throat. The vertical Captain snapped back to reality and back up onto his feet. "It seemed like 3/4 of a mile two miles ago!" he wearily announced, and picked his end of the stretcher back up.

The Major managed an amused snort, "I know what you mea--" he stopped talking, suddenly and froze.

Hawkeye jerked to a halt, along with the stretcher, and stared up at what Winchester was staring at.

Just ahead of them on the river bank was a small deserted-looking hut. And, tied to a tree on the bank just at the river's edge was a rather shoddy, not so deserted-looking houseboat…er, hutboat.

They stood there, like statues.

"Any suggestions?" Pierce wondered, in a whisper.

"Let's set him down again," Charles suggested, also in a whisper. "And then one of us will be free to go check it out."

"Do you think that's wise?" Hawkeye inquired, as they carefully set the stretcher back down. "I mean, maybe we should just stay here and check it out _from a distance_, first…"

Winchester exhaled an impatient sigh. "I am tired...and I am hungry...and I am in no mood to stay here and check it--" he stopped again and grimaced, as he realized he had just whispered himself into being the 'one' to go.

Captain Pierce smiled innocently at him. "Be careful, Charles. And remember, we're not supposed to let anybody see us."

The Major shot him an irritated look and started sneaking off.

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"It's all clear," Winchester announced upon his return, several anxious minutes later. "Come on!" he urged, picking his end of the heavy stretcher back up.

"Wasn't anybody home?" Hawkeye wondered, as he joined him on the other end.

"The hut is deserted," Charles informed him, as they started off in the direction of the hut and the houseboat again. "There is an old man on the boat."

Pierce appeared surprised, then worried. "Did he see you? What if he sees us? He could tell the North Koreans!"

"I assure you, he will not see us. Nor will he tell the North Koreans anything. His eyes and lips are sealed...permanently!" he added, hintingly.

"You mean..." Hawkeye cocked one eyebrow and swallowed nervously. "How did he die?"

"With a smile on his face."

"I mean, what was the _cause_ of death?"

"I hardly had the time to perform an autopsy," Charles reminded him. "However, judging by appearances, I would say that he died of natural causes...old age to be more specific."

"You sure it wasn't something contagious?"

Winchester managed a skeptical grunt. "One would hardly expect to find a plague victim with an opium pipe in his hands and a smile on his face."

They reached the hut and carried the stretcher through its opened door.

"Hardly," Hawkeye was finally forced to admit. He noticed that the hut was a carbon copy of the one they'd just left...no furniture...no anything.

They set B.J. down on the dirt floor in the center of the single room.

Winchester slid his medical bag out from beneath a blanket, opened it and started rummaging around for his stethoscope. He found it and stuck the tips in his ears.

Pierce helped position their patient.

The Major placed the shiny, round disc against B.J.'s bandaged back and listened, carefully. He frowned and moved the instrument over a few inches for another listen.

Hawkeye saw his colleague's frown deepen. "Hear anything?"

"An entire symphony," Charles regrettably announced, "playing Brahms' Violin Concerto. He is not breathing deeply. His shallow respirations are causing a fluid build-up..." he solemnly added and slowly pulled the stethoscope from his ears.

Captain Pierce looked equally solemn. Their patient was in no condition to battle pneumonia. Hell, their patient was in no condition to _battle_ anything.

"Soak the blanket in the river. We can apply it as a cold compress to his contusions. I'll 'fetch' us some furniture from the boat," Winchester volunteered. "We can slant the stretcher. If we keep his head at a lower elevation it may help to promote drainage."

Hawkeye nodded the plans approvingly. "Good thinking, Charles," he sincerely said, and gathered up B.J.'s blanket. He was glad one of them was capable of thinking clearly, because his mind was on his _friend_...not his 'patient'. The situation was too emotional for him to just think medically.

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The Major returned, several minutes later, carting a cot and two odd-looking cloth-covered collapsible contraptions, resembling lawn chairs.

"Did you find any food?" Hawkeye inquired, sounding a bit desperate.

Charles looked thoughtful, "I suppose there are some who would consider a sack of uncooked brown rice and two decaying fish _food_," he shuddered and went back to work setting up their furniture. "I am not one of them, however. And so, my answer is no. I did not find any _food_."

Hawkeye was forced to smile at his gourmet colleague's response to his inquiry. "We could always cook the rice," he reasoned.

"That would require building a fire, and fires create smoke," the Major quickly reminded him. "I did, however, find this…"

Pierce studied the little bottle of black, murky liquid the Major had just pulled from his pocket. "What _is_ that?"

"I believe it to be opium…opium dissolved in alcohol."

"Laudanum?"

"Paregoric. Pain relief, in a bottle."

'That'll come in handy, if--when B.J. wakes up.' Hawkeye silently realized.

"The houseboat is a veritable cornucopia of pharmaceuticals. I believe that old man was a floating drug peddler."

Pierce helped the narcotics detective set up the cot. "Did the old man die in bed?" he nervously inquired.

Winchester nodded.

Hawkeye looked even more nervous and a wee bit curious. "What did you do with the...?"

"Since a watery grave requires neither a shovel nor digging, I weighted the...and gave the old drug dealer a gangster's burial."

Pierce appeared both amused and appalled. "You mean..."

Winchester nodded again. "Our friend now _sleeps with the fishes_."

Hawkeye forced himself to remain solemn, even though he found the Major's account of the burial most amusing.

They lifted B.J.'s stretcher onto the old man's cot, and then elevated one end so that the unconscious man's head was positioned slightly lower than the rest of his body.

Charles finished setting up their recently acquired folding chairs and then collapsed exhaustedly onto one of them. "Say...this contraption is rather comfortable," he admitted, when he finally got himself safely situated in it. "Go on. Try yours out," he encouraged, motioning to the remaining vacant chair.

Hawkeye gazed longingly down at the comfortable-looking cloth-covered contraption. "Nah, I'd better not. One of us should stay awake in case he, or the Lieutenant comes around."

"Very well, then you may assume the first watch. Wake me in a few hours and I shall relieve you..." Charles' words drifted off...and so did he.

Pierce smiled down at the dozing doctor. He gave the other unconscious physician a quick examination. Then, satisfied that B.J. was resting comfortably, Captain Pierce decided to go exploring.

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The houseboat bobbed slightly as Hawkeye jumped aboard. He steadied himself on the deck and then ducked into the little hut that had served as the old man's living quarters.

He found the single-room dwelling space rather disorganized and unkempt and was reminded of their own 'Swamp'. The doctor fought off the homesick feeling that had begun to overwhelm him, and continued his exploration. He stared down at the old man's opium pipe and its gooey, reddish-brown contents. 'That's one way to escape the war.' He was glad that Charles had found the Laudanum. When B.J. did come around, he would be needing an 'escape' from the pain.

The Captain turned his attention to a corked, empty rice wine bottle and suddenly he had an idea. Hawkeye snatched the empty bottle from the floor and stepped over to a small desk. He hesitated a few moments before beginning to rummage through it.

Messing around with someone else's personal belongings went against his grain. But if that someone else no longer existed, he guessed it was okay.

The old man had lived on the river, died on the river and was now laid to eternal rest on the river's bottom. Or, more appropriately, the old man would be sleeping for eternity in his river _bed_.

Pierce shrugged off his morbid thoughts and brightened, as he finally found what he'd been rummaging for: a sheet of blank rice paper, and an ink bottle and pen. He opened the bottle, dipped the pen in the murky, black ink and scratched out the following message:

'Help! We're stranded on a deserted stretch of riverbank somewhere in North Korea. We have no food or water. One of us is hurt, bad! If you cannot rescue us, at least say a little prayer for our safe return. If you get this message after the Truce has been signed, please disregard. We'll all be rescued, or dead, by then.'

The doctor decided against including their names. The bottle could fall into the wrong hands. Instead, he signed it:

'Sincerely yours, The Surgical Staff of M.A.S.H. 4077'.

Hawkeye set his pen down on the desk and waved the paper through the air in an attempt to dry the ink faster. He gave the message a few final blows. He then rolled it up, uncorked the bottle and stashed the cylindrical sheet inside.

The doctor ducked back out onto the deck, shoved the cork back into the bottle, kissed it and then tossed it out into the middle of the river.

It landed with a 'sploosh', then bobbed to the surface and began drifting downstream, with the strong current.

Hawkeye watched it go bobbing off and suddenly wondered just how far it would get. 'Perhaps some fisherman will find it floating in Inchon Harbor?' He was forced to smile, as he realized the thought was rather ridiculous.

Then again, maybe it wasn't such a ridiculous thought. 'After all, B.J. did say that you could float clear down to Seoul on this thing.' Pierce's slight smile suddenly vanished and a strange look filled his face. "B.J. _did_ say that!" he exclaimed aloud. The Captain stared down at the deck beneath his feet, looking rather devious and quite pleased with himself.

End of Chapter Nine 


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Hawkeye spent the next several hours getting the houseboat ready for travel. He threw all nonessential items overboard and onto the bank. The Captain then covered the hut's windows so that no light from inside would be visible outside. He even forced himself to tidy up a bit.

At last, the sailor was satisfied that his vessel was seaworthy--er, riverworthy rather, and he went to wake the Major for _his_ turn on the watch.

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Charles just sat there for a few moments, listening to his empty stomach grumbling. He was still half-asleep and unable to fully fathom his colleague's cock-eyed notion. "We are going to _what_?"

"Wait until dark and then float down to Seoul," Hawkeye casually repeated. He gave their patient one last careful examination before collapsing onto his cloth-covered chair. His tired, bloodshot eyes closed.

Winchester was suddenly wide awake. "You are joking, of course."

"Nope!" Pierce replied, not bothering to open his eyes. "I've got it all planned. The houseboat is ready. We're leaving just as soon as the Lieutenant gets here."

Winchester caught the very determined tone in the Captain's voice. "Wherever did you get this ridiculous notion of yours?"

"It's not so ridiculous. I have it under good authority that it _can_ be done."

"Whose good authority?"

"B.J.'s"

The Major managed a skeptical grunt. "I would hardly consider Captain Hunnicutt an authority on the navigation of Korean Rivers!"

"Maybe not all Korean Rivers," Hawkeye had to admit. "But he knows this one. B.J.'s been fishing this river for the past ten months. If he says we can float down to Seoul on it, then _we can and we will_!"

Charles remained skeptical, but refrained from further comment.

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"Pierce? Pierce! Wake up!"

Hawkeye heard Winchester calling his name. His eyes snapped open and he sat stiffly forward in his comfortable cloth chair. Darkness had descended.

"We have a visitor."

The Captain squinted out at a bright flashlight beam. "How did it go, Lieutenant?"

"Everything went according to plan," the young North Korean officer assured him. "How is the Captain?"

"Still alive," Charles relievedly reported. 'Amazingly.'

Captain Pierce and the Lieutenant both breathed audible sighs of relief.

Their visitor then handed them a knapsack full of provisions, and some interesting news. "The Chinese took your information back with them."

"Thanks," Hawkeye told their benefactor, sounding ravenously hungry and ridiculously dry. He pulled a canteen from the satchel and passed it to Charles. "They don't _really_ think it's legitimate? Do they?"

"The Chinese Colonel did not intend to be upstaged by Colonel Reaik. So he admitted that the information Reaik had gathered from you only served to confirm reports that he had already received from his own Chinese intelligence sources. The Chinese Colonel did not wish to lose face with his superiors, either. So he sent the information back saying that _Chinese_, and not North Korean agents, were responsible for gathering it."

"That's incredible!" Captain Pierce blurted, between mouthfuls of _provisions_. "What did your Colonel think of _that_?"

"Reaik was understandably upset. When I left the village, he was still cursing the Captain here, for failing to cooperate with him so that _he_ could have collected the information _first_."

"Incredible!" the Captain repeated and kept right on munching.

"I hope the food is satisfactory. Rice cakes and water were all I could come up with, for now. I shall bring you some fish, and more rice, in the morning."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. But that won't be necessary." Hawkeye paused to take a long, refreshing swig from the canteen. "We won't be here."

"Where _will_ you be?"

Winchester swallowed a bite of bland rice cake and cleared his throat. "Captain Nemo, here, has decided to float us down to Seoul," he sarcastically replied.

Their visitor was both surprised and curious. "On what?"

Hawkeye took the Lieutenant's light and aimed it out the door.

The young officer's eyes widened as the light's beam illuminated the old man's houseboat. "Where did _that_ come from?" He listened attentively, as the Major told him the old man's story.

"Ridiculous, isn't it!" Winchester concluded.

"On the contrary, Major. I think it is an excellent idea!"

Charles almost choked on a chunk of his rice cake. "You do-o?" he incredulously inquired, between coughs.

"Yes! What safer way is there for you to return to your lines? Why, not only is it safer, it will prove faster as well! You will not have to remain here until the Captain is fit to travel!"

Pierce gave his skeptical colleague an invisible 'I told you so,' look, then turned back to their young ally. "Why don't you come with us, Lieutenant?"

The young officer was deeply touched by the American's invitation. "Thank you. Your offer is most kind. But, I cannot. You see, my family is still in the North. If I were to defect to the South, I am afraid they would suffer the consequences."

There was a long solemn silence.

Hawkeye finally finished eating. "Well, let's prepare to shove off!" he boldly suggested and started getting stiffly to his feet.

The Lieutenant stepped up to their unconscious patient. He reached into another sack, that he had draped over his shoulder, and pulled out the man's box of pictures and letters. He placed the B.J.'s box and his dog tags down on his stretcher. "I hope you live to see your family again, Captain," he whispered, sincerely. "I hope we _both_ do," he quietly added.

With their visitor's help, the Americans managed to get their patient and their provisions, and their furniture, loaded onto the boat.

The Lieutenant stood on the bank waiting for the order to cast off.

At last, Captain Pierce stepped out onto the deck and motioned for him to untie the rope that was keeping them anchored to the tree.

The young man did and then tossed it onto the deck at the American's feet. "Good luck!" he called out softly, then suddenly remembered something. "When giving accounts of your escape, I would appreciate it if you would make no mention of me!"

Captain Pierce suddenly realized something, himself. "Don't worry, Lieutenant! We don't even know _who_ you are!" he reminded the young man, with a grin.

The young NK officer exhaled an audible sigh of relief, then grinned and waved.

Hawkeye waved back. "Thanks for everything you _didn't_ do for us, Lieutenant!" he teased, as the houseboat began to drift downstream, with the strong current.

The Lieutenant's grin broadened. "You are most welcome!" The young man stood there for a few more moments and watched, as the boat floated off around a bend in the river and disappeared from sight. 'Bon voyage!'

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Colonel Potter lay motionless on his cot. He was staring blankly up at the rafters over his head, and remembering. The last time he'd spent an entire day waiting for the phone to ring was back in '21, when he was eagerly awaiting news of his first-born. He smiled at this pleasant memory, and then stiffened, as his thoughts were shattered by the familiar ringing of an army mobile phone.

"It's for you, Colonel," Klinger announced, poking his head into his C.O.'s sleeping quarters.

Potter had sprang from his bunk on the first ring and almost bumped into him in the doorway. "Panmunjom?" he inquired hopefully.

Klinger looked glum. "I-Corp, sir. G-2's General Mitchell to be exact."

Potter appeared more than a little disappointed. He snatched the phone from the Sergeant's outstretched hand and reluctantly held it up to his ear. He hesitated again before pressing the transmit button. "Potter here. What can I do for you, General?"

The Sergeant stood there, studying his C.O.'s reactions to what was being said.

An annoyed expression came over Potter's face. "Look, even if it's still standing, which I rather doubt, it's bound to be crawling with Chinese--" he stopped, suddenly and listened.

The Colonel's face filled with confusion. "It i-is?" His face filled with downright wonder. "They ha-ave?"

There was another brief silence.

Potter looked extremely skeptical. "What would ever possess them to do a thing like that?" His look softened. "Yes, General. I've heard some say that it's hard to understand how the Oriental mind works. But _that_ sounds like their minds aren't working at all!"

There was another silence.

His C.O. stood there, smiling and nodding. "I see...right...fine...that'll do just fine, General. And thanks for giving me the lowdown firsthand." His smile vanished. "No...no word...yet."

There was one last brief bout of silence.

"So do I, General. So do I. Right! Will do! Goodbye, General." Potter appeared lost in thought. He slowly lowered the phone and offered it back to the Sergeant. "Round the troops up for me, will you, Klinger. I have another little announcement to make."

"Right away, sir," Klinger acknowledged, trying hard not to sound hurt. He didn't try hard enough.

The Colonel caught the tone of his Sergeant's voice and realized that Klinger was probably feeling _left out_. And, after hearing only one half of the conversation, he no doubt was. An oversight he intended to correct. "Before you go, I think you should know," he paused.

Sergeant Klinger ground to a halt, spun quickly around and waited, expectantly, for his C.O. to continue.

"We've just been ordered back to camp. G-2 is there now. They say it's deserted. The Chinese tried to burn it down before they left, but the canvas was too wet. They couldn't get it to burn."

Klinger nodded thoughtfully then suddenly looked terribly puzzled.

Potter saw the look and was forced to smile. "It seems the Chinese just up and decided to pull back…for no apparent reason. They just up and left...just like that!" he added, with a snap of his fingers.

The Sergeant suddenly realized something. "We'll be needing some…doctors."

"That won't be necessary. Since it looks like there isn't going to be any fighting, there shouldn't be any casualties, so we won't be needing any…" he hesitated, "…doctors," he finished, sadly, and then forced himself to brighten. "Besides, we can't wait around here for replacements. We've got to get back to camp, pack everything up and make a _proper_ bug-out. I-Corp expects us to be set up at our new location by sun-up." He saw Klinger now looked more curious than ever and was forced to smile again. "We've been ordered to spend the duration of this war back at Wau-Jam-Bou."

"All right!" Klinger exclaimed, looking and sounding positively ecstatic. But then, he suddenly turned glum again and hung his head. "I'd give anything to be able to see the look on Hawkeye's face when he hears that the fighting's been called off."

Potter gave his sad Sergeant a sympathetic smile. "So would I," he softly admitted. The Colonel was currently experiencing mixed emotions. He was sad that their three friends were still missing. Yet, he couldn't help but feel glad that they'd been ordered back to Wau-Jam-Bou.

Wau-Jam-Bou was the 4077th's home base. Wau-Jam-Bou was Sister Tereasa's Orphanage and his horse, Sophie. Wau-Jam-Bou was Rosie's Bar and their own Officers' and Enlisted Men's Club. Yes, Wau-Jam-Bou was 'home' to them. The 4077th had spent more time stationed at Wau-Jam-Bou than on any other chunk of Korean real estate. 'It'll be a big comfort to the troops to return there, now...especially now.'

And it was gonna be a big comfort to the Colonel, too. He watched his messenger leave the hut. Then he turned back to their mobile phone and rang up the operator down at I-Corp. "Yes, this is Colonel Potter--MASH 4077. Put me through to the U.N. Command Post--Panmunjom." He let out a frustrated sigh. "Yes, I'll wait. I've been waiting _all day_. I'll wait _all night,_ if I have to."

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"Did you hear me, Charles?" Pierce repeated. "I said, the Lieutenant wants us to forget he ever existed."

Winchester nodded disinterestedly and stared intently down at the oral thermometer in his hand. He squinted out at the thin, silver thread of mercury and frowned at its altitude. "It has climbed 2.3 degrees since I last checked it," he regrettably announced and flicked their flashlight off.

That left them basking in the dim glow of an oil lamp, suspended from one of the rafters overhead.

Hawkeye frowned. "You sure?"

"I wish I were mistaken," Charles confessed. "But I double-checked it."

"Well, it might not be pneumonia," Pierce reasoned, aloud. "I mean, we didn't exactly operate on him under the sterilest of circumstances. He may have just picked up a few North Korean germs."

'Great! Septic shock!' the Major morbidly thought, but remained silent. He stashed the thermometer back into his medical bag, and then snatched the wet blanket from their feverish patient. He grabbed a wooden bucket, as well, and then ducked out onto the deck.

Charles returned, a few moments later, with a dripping blanket and a bucketful of cool river water. He applied the saturated blanket to B.J.'s body, as a cooling compress for his massive contusions. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out one of their bandage remnants.

They had been placing their patient alternately on his back and stomach. And B.J. was currently on his back.

Charles dipped the rag into the bucket, wrung it out a bit and then placed the cool, moist cloth on Captain Hunnicutt's feverish brow.

B.J.'s respiration rate suddenly increased and he began to emit a pitiful moan with each shallow, labored, exhaled breath.

The two doctors found the sound of their friend's moaning most unsettling, to say the least.

B.J's moans gradually turned into groans. His breathing quickly became even more labored and irregular.

Pierce propped his pained friend's legs up just enough to take the strain off his bruised abdomen.

Their patient was regaining consciousness and his pain was increasing in its intensity. B.J. began gasping for breath, between groans.

Realizing that their patient's extreme degree of discomfort was causing him respiratory distress, Charles reached for his pocket and the corked bottle it contained. He opened the laudanum, and B.J.'s mouth, and went to pour a little of the opiate under his tongue.

B.J. suddenly stopped groaning.

Hawkeye was somewhat relieved, until he realized that it was because B.J. had also stopped _breathing_! "He's not breathing!" he anxiously exclaimed and snapped into action. He opened B.J.'s airway, then pinched his nostrils closed and began forcing air into him, mouth-to-mouth. "You gave him too much!" he barked between breaths, "Threw him into respiratory arrest!"

Charles watched the rhythmic rising and falling of Captain Hunnicutt's chest, under the influence of Captain Pierce's artificial respirations. "An interesting theory," he numbly admitted. "But I did _not_ give him the laudanum. Respiratory arrest may also result from severe pain or trauma--Breathe, man!" he ordered, sternly. "Plea-ease! Brea-eathe!"

Hawkeye stopped momentarily to see if the Major's rather emotional plea was going to bring about any results.

B.J. remained uncooperative for several anxious seconds. Then, he gasped and started groaning again.

The groaning was music to their ears! It meant their patient was breathing on his own again.

The Major pulled the little bottle of painkiller back out of his pocket.

The two physicians just stood there, staring at the laudanum. Neither of them wanted to be the one to assume responsibility for the drug's unknown effects on their patient.

Hawkeye heard B.J.'s labored, highly irregular breathing. "We're damned, if we do…and damned, if we don't," Captain Pierce glumly pointed out. "The drug could depress his already depressed vital signs. But, if we don't treat his pain, he's going to go into respiratory arrest again."

"What if we do not 'put him out'?" Winchester wondered. "We could simply keep him **lightly** _sedated_."

Captain Pierce nodded the Major's plan, approvingly.

B.J. had started tossing his head again.

Hawkeye held his feverish friend's head up--and still.

Winchester placed a wee bit of the powerful opiate under their pained patient's tongue.

Several anxious minutes passed.

Suddenly, B.J. stopped groaning, again. His head went limp and he was perfectly still. Except, of course, for the steady, even rising and falling of his soggy-blanketed chest.

The two doctors waited, breathlessly, to see if the opiate's effect would prove to be a positive…or a negative one.

B.J.'s chest rose and fell 12 times…one full minute. Another minute passed and still his respirations remained perfectly regular.

"It worked!" Hawkeye dared to declare at last. "Ah-hah! It worked!"

Captain Hunnicutt's doctors gripped each other's shoulders and slapped one another victoriously on the back.

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Colonel Potter stood there in the open doorway of the Swamp. He ran the beam of his flashlight over three ransacked footlockers...and three empty, untouched beds. His light came to rest on the chessboard between the two Captain's cots. He could tell, by the positions of the pieces, that the two men were obviously in the middle of a game.

"Kind a' spooky, isn't it, sir," Klinger told more than asked his C.O..

Potter had been startled by the Sergeant's sudden appearance. He regained his composure and forced himself to make some sort of comment. "Yes. Everything's pretty much exactly as we left it."

"They must've taken only what they could carry in their pockets. Except for the food. They took _all_ of the food," Klinger announced, almost happily. He stared around the deserted Swamp again and shivered, and not from the cold either. "They've been missing for over twenty-four hours, now." He turned to Potter. "Do you think we'll ever see them again, Colonel?"

There was a long silence, as his C.O. carefully thought the question over. "My heart says _yes_...and my head says _no_." The Colonel turned to face his Sergeant. "Right now, I'm listening to the part that is saying: You'd better watch how you pack that chessboard!"

"Yes, sir!" Klinger acknowledged, with a grin.

End of Chapter Ten


	12. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Hawkeye sat there, in the gloom of their tiny room, watching Charles rummaging through the sack containing their confiscated belongings.

The Major removed three wristwatches from the sack and held them up to the light.

Winchester replaced two of the timepieces and started strapping the remaining one back onto his rope-burned wrist.

"What time is it?" Hawkeye wondered.

"I...I don't...know," Captain Hunnicutt answered, in a voice barely above a whisper.

The two vertical doctors' eyes widened in surprise. They glanced at each other and then turned their attention to their horizontal colleague.

"Beej?" Hawkeye called out, to his motionless friend.

Their patient's eyes remained closed.

"Beej?" Pierce repeated and reached out to place a hand on B.J.'s right wrist. He stopped suddenly, remembering what happened the last time he touched his tortured friend, unexpectedly. "Beej? Beej, are you awake?"

B.J. swallowed hard. His throat was almost too dry to speak. "I'm...I'm...not...sure."

Hawkeye looked rather bewildered and turned to Winchester. "He's not sure if he's awake?"

Charles studied their peaceful patient for a few moments. "Opium has been known to have that effect."

B.J. moaned and made a feeble attempt to lift his head up from his stretcher. Suddenly, his moans turned to groans and he began to thrash around.

"The _effect_ seems to be wearing off," Hawkeye quickly determined and went to hold his groaning friend still. He hesitated. "Beej? Beej, listen to me! It's me...Hawkeye! I want you to take it easy! Nobody's gonna hurt you! I promise!" he vowed and gripped their patient's good shoulder, reassuringly.

B.J. flinched and his eyes snapped open. "No-o!" he pleaded and made another pitiful attempt to rise from his stretcher.

"It's okay! It's all right, Beej!" Pierce assured him and gently eased him back down. "Everything's gonna be okay, now, so just take it easy!"

Hunnicutt glanced around the gloomy little room and lay there, trembling and panting. His look of terror gradually turned to one of extreme pain…and disappointment. "Welcome…to my...nightmare...gentlemen," he mumbled in a barely audible whisper and then groaned again.

A bottle was pressed up to his bruised, dry lips and he obligingly took a sip of its contents. "Ugh!" B.J. grimaced and shuddered, as the mystery liquid left an unbelievably bad and bitter taste in his mouth. "Eeeyuk!…That stuff …is nasty!" Speaking of nasty…Captain Hunnicutt suddenly remembered something, er--someone and stiffened. "The Colonel!…Did you talk to him?"

"Yes," Hawkeye assured him. "I told him what he wanted to hear."

"Well…what happened?…Did he…believe you?"

"Not only did _he_ believe," Pierce bragged, "but he made believers out of the _Chinese_, as well!"

B.J. stiffened and struggled to sit up again. "The _Chinese_!"

"Relax, will yah!" Hawkeye sternly advised and eased their antsy patient down onto his stretcher again. He gave his very worried, anxious friend a warm, reassuring smile. "When you 'convince' somebody, they _stay_ 'convinced'. The Lieutenant kept his promise. He didn't let them take us."

B.J. breathed a painful sigh of relief. Then he returned his friend's smile and untensed, completely. "Where…_are_ we?"

Hawkeye released his grip on him and then placed the cool, damp cloth back on his feverish forehead. "You'll never guess! Not in a million years!"

Hunnicutt looked thoughtful. "He-ell?"

His colleagues weren't quite sure what to make of his guess.

"It _hurts_ like hell!" Captain Hunnicutt lightly explained. He stared down at his heavily bandaged chest. His last _clear_ recollection had him _circling the drain_. So, why wasn't he dead? "Why…am I…still here?…Wherever…here is." B.J. looked around the tiny hut and noticed that the windows were all covered, like in the O.R.. "What time is it…anyway?"

Charles squinted down at his watch. "It is precisely one half past the hour of eleven...p.m." he added, for clarification.

B.J. seemed stunned by the news. 'Wasn't it just dawn?'

"Wanna try some of this nutritious rice?" Hawkeye offered. "It may be cold, but at least it's cooked."

Hunnicutt could feel his agony beginning to recede. He unclenched his bruised jaw and carefully ran his tongue over his loosened teeth. "Na-ah…Better not." He was afraid that if he chewed, he might end up swallowing a few teeth. Speaking of swallowing…His throat was painfully parched. "But I sure could use…a _drink_!"

"Just a sip," Hawkeye advised, propping the thirsty man's head up and holding the canteen to his bruised, dry lips.

B.J. took a single sip and, somehow, even managed to swallow the warm, stale water. His face scrunched up a might. "That wasn't _exactly_…what I had in mind," he teased. "But thanks."

His doctors glanced at each other and grinned.

"We-ell, we certainly aim to please!" Charles teased right back. He pulled his nearly-drained bottle of 'classy bubbly' from the sack containing his belongings and offered their patient an _exact_ drink.

There was only about one swallow left in the bottle and B.J. was hesitant to drink it.

"Go ahead," Winchester encouraged him, with a warm smile. "Lord knows you've certainly earned it!"

B.J. stared wonderingly up at him. "But, Charles…that's your $200.00 bottle…of fancy, French booze!"

The Bostonian shuddered. "Plea-ease, referring to Chateaux Brianne as booze, is like calling the Sistine Chapel a doodle."

B.J. smiled and then squirmed restlessly on his stretcher. "Oh-ohhh," he moaned. "Why is it…every time I breathe…I get the distinct impression…that there is a…_zipper_…in my back?"

Hawkeye appeared positively stumped. "Beats me. We used my _shirt_, not my _pants_."

B.J. gave him a strange stare. "Used your shirt?…Used your shirt…for what?"

"I assure you," the Major assured him, "there is nothing to be concerned about. You are merely experiencing some perfectly normal postoperative discomfort."

B.J.'s weary eyes widened. "Postoperative?…You mean…you two actually…on me?"

The two surgeons appeared tremendously pleased with themselves and nodded.

Their patient looked completely at a loss. "With _what_?"

"Why, Charles' pearl-handled scalpels, of course!" Hawkeye jokingly replied and held up the Major's medical bag.

"Oh, plea-ease, the handles are _ivory_," Winchester insincerely corrected.

B.J. was stunned. "Now I really do…need a _drink_!"

His doctors grinned.

Charles offered him the 'bubbly' again. "Just sip it."

Hunnicutt ignored his doctor's sage advice and downed the bottle's entire contents in one long swallow. He gasped, then gritted his teeth and braced himself, as the entire room suddenly rocked, violently.

The sudden jolt jarred his bruised body and threatened to _un_zip the zipper in his lower back. An involuntary cry of pain escaped from him. He gasped again and turned to his two startled colleagues, who'd been knocked halfway across the hut. "You were right, Charles," he gasped. "I should've sipped it," he gasped again. "I had no idea…that Champagne…had such a _kick_ to it!" he teased and forced a weak smile.

His concerned colleagues returned his smile and started picking themselves up off the floor.

Charles hurried back up to their pale, shaken patient. "Are you all right?"

Hunnicutt nodded and then smiled again, as his doctor refused to take his word for it and began giving him a careful once over. B.J. suddenly looked rather curious. "What the heck…was that…anyway?…An _earthquake_?"

"All right! Nobody panic!" Pierce advised, suddenly taking on the stature of a ship's Captain. "We've probably just struck a reef or something," he calmly reasoned. The houseboat's Skipper snatched their flashlight and ducked out onto the deck of his ship to make an estimation of the damages.

Hunnicutt watched him disappear. "What the heck…is he talking about?"

"I haven't the vaguest notion, " Charles assured him. "Rivers do not have _reefs_. They have _sandbars_."

"And low-clearance bridges," Pierce added, ducking back inside. "But there's no need to start bailing or manning the lifeboats. We just lost a few shingles, is all." He stepped up to his friend's stretcher and gave him a concerned stare. "You took quite a jolt, you sure you're okay?"

B.J. gave them both a couple of strange stares. "I'm fi-ine!" he gasped. "But I think the two of you…may have lost a few shingles."

The two men glanced at each other and grinned.

Captain Hunnicutt stared up at them in confusion. "What's all this talk…about reefs?…And rivers?" He suddenly looked even more confused. "How can a _hut_…run into a _bridge_?"

"It can't," Hawkeye assured him. He removed the cloth from his friend's forehead and dipped it in the now half-spilt bucket of cool, river water. "Unless, of course, it's on a boat." He wrung the rag out loosely and placed it back on his friend's puzzled brow.

B.J. nodded, thoughtfully.

Charles saw his patient open his mouth to ask another question and quickly shoved a thermometer into it.

Captain Hunnicutt gave him an annoyed glare and, reluctantly, pursed his lips.

Seeing that his pal's expression remained perplexed, Hawkeye continued. "You've heard of the Slowboat to China?"

Hunnicutt gave him a confused nod.

"Well _this_ is the Slowboat to South Korea!"

Between the laudanum and the Chateaux Brianne, B.J.'s brain wasn't working quite right. He gave up trying to make any sense out of his friend's explanation and closed his eyes.

"Okay," Hawkeye surrendered. "Remember the river we turned around at last night?"

B.J. opened one eye and nodded again. "The Han," he acknowledged, through clenched teeth.

"Shush!" Winchester ordered, sternly, and got half of another annoyed glare.

"Right! The Han. Well, did you, or did you not, say that we could float clear down to Seoul on it?"

"I did," B.J. admitted, ignoring his doctor's order to remain silent.

"Well, _we are_!" Captain Pierce nonchalantly announced.

B.J. looked about as thoughtful as someone in his 'stoned' state could look. Now that Hawkeye mentioned it. It did feel like they were moving all right. "We _a-are_..." he numbly realized…aloud.

Charles gave up and snatched the instrument from his patient's moving mouth. "104.2 and climbing," he glumly announced.

B.J. saw his colleagues exchange solemn glances. "I thought it was…awfully warm in here," he lightly admitted. He glanced around him, at their surroundings. "Whose…'hut boat'…is this…anyway?" he wondered, in an attempt to change the subject.

Hawkeye forced himself to answer on a cheery note. "Ours! But, it used to belong to a little old man from Pyongyang, who only floated it on Sundays."

B.J. smiled, then looked a little nervous. "Used to belong?"

Hawkeye nodded. "He didn't need it any more."

"He doesn't need anything anymore," Charles hinted. "Now that he _sleeps with the fishes_."

B.J. saw Winchester's rather uncharacteristically tough gangster expression and Hawkeye's rather amused expression and suddenly realized something. "You two haven't just...lost a few shingles...Your entire roofs…have collapsed!" He saw that they were forced to grin again and smiled. Then he gradually remembered something and his nervousness returned. "What exactly...does your shirt…have to do...with my operation?"

Charles looked rather uncomfortable. "Pierce suggested that we use the 'fancy' silk thread for su--"

"--Surgical dressings!" Hawkeye interrupted. "I guarantee, no one has ever been bandaged in _finer_ Japanese silk!"

B.J. stared uncertainly down at his gaudy silk wrappings. "Thanks...I'm overwhelmed!" he stated, truthfully.

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"Uh-hum," B.J. said to keep from crying out, as Charles gently eased him onto his painfully bruised back again. He unclenched his teeth and shook his hot, dizzy head. The dimly lit room slowly stopped spinning. "It's been over thirty years...since I've needed help…with my zipper," he thoughtfully realized, and then smiled. "My-y…how time _flies_."

"What about your _other_ zipper?" Charles inquired, ignoring the play on words completely. "Any bleeding or excessive discomfort back there?"

B.J. studied his very worried looking doctor for a few moments, then shook his head again. "Thanks to that disgusting laudananum…and your expensive cham…cha-amp...wine...I'm not experiencing any discomfort...to speak of," he added, upon seeing his colleague's look of deep skepticism.

"You are certain this latest 'collision' hasn't torn any of my sutures free?"

"Look, Char...Cha-arl...Chuck…stop worrying…about a little…bloody urine!…My kidneys have…thousands…of glom...glom...e-eru...ruli...They can lose a few…and still function prop...proper...okay…Anyway…I'm passing fluids…ain't I?…That's a good sign…I mean…at least…there's no clotting...or blockage…of the ur...uret...the little tubes."

"Speaking of fluids." Since the Captain's remaining kidney appeared to be functioning, Charles raised their canteen to Hunnicutt's lips. "It is time for some more input."

His patient gazed blurrily up at the two canteens in both Bostonians' hands and hesitated to swallow their contents.

"Come on! Drink up!"

B.J. shook his dizzy head again. "I can't handle…Korean water…straight…I need some gin...to wash it down with."

"You are presently too delirious with fever to know what is best for you!"

"I am not," B.J. winced and lowered his voice. "I am _not_…delirious!" he stubbornly insisted. "Sipping lau-audanum…and cham...cha-amp...wine…does not make…a person...that!"

"Very well, Captain. I do not intend to debate the matter with you. Now, I want you to stop talking and start drinking!" He saw his patient's mouth opening in protest. "Sipping laudanum and champagne does not elevate one's body temperature to 104.8 degrees. You are a very sick man. You have lost nearly half of your fluid volume and you are dangerously dehydrated."

His patient remained unconvinced. "So I've got a little fever...so what's the big deal?…I mean, people...all over the world have fevers...everyday...it's really a very natural occur...occu-ur...thing...Comes from the body's…itty, bitty white blood cells…eating all those…big, bad ge-erms...Gives them heartburn, you know...which, in turn…raises the body's temp...tempra...gives it a fever."

Charles stared down at his colleague in amazement. "And _that_ coming from a physician who claims he is _not_ delirious."

B.J. grinned smugly up at him. "That's right!…I remain…in complete control…of my facu-ulties."

"Humph!" Winchester grunted, skeptically. "You are not even in _complete _control of you faculties when you are stone sober and your body temperature is normal!"

His patient's grin broadened.

The Major's own smile faded fast and he turned stern again. "Now be still and drink!"

B.J. reluctantly took a mouthful of the warm, stale water, but then hesitated to swallow. He was just about to spit it out when the Winchesters placed their hands over his mouth. He grimaced and forced himself to let the unappetizing liquid slide down the hatch.

The hands were removed. "Ughhh!" Hunnicutt declared with a shudder. "Ahhh yuk!" he added, as a thermometer was shoved into his not yet fully recovered mouth. He clenched his teeth and gave his 'nurses' another annoyed look. Captain Hunnicutt suddenly had an idea. "Does this…thermomenometer…_mean_ anything to you?" he wondered, curiously. "Anything _special_…I mean."

"Lie still!" Charles told him and continued rummaging through his medical bag, looking for his stethoscope. "Still as in _silently_!"

"Does it?"

Winchester gasped in exasperation. "I fail to grasp the significance of your _profound_ interrogation. However, if my answer will get you to _shut up_, then no. It means nothing _special_ to me--" a strange look came over the Major, as he suddenly grasped the significance of his patient's question. He snapped his head up and quickly reached out to snatch the instrument from B.J.'s pursed lips.

Hunnicutt clamped down just as he grasped it and there was the unmistakable sound of glass...crunching.

Charles stared, disbelievingly, down at the broken piece of glass wand in his hand and was momentarily too shocked to speak.

B.J. turned his feverish head to one side and triumphantly spit the remaining piece from his mouth. He let out a very relaxed sigh and then lay there…smiling.

Winchester could find no reason to smile. He was just about to chastise his destructive patient, when the houseboat bobbed slightly.

A few moments later, Captain Pierce ducked back inside.

"Ahhh!" the Major declared, looking and sounding tremendously relieved. "Your keeper has returned! Perhaps he can get you to behave?"

Neither of them noticed how solemn and preoccupied with his thoughts Pierce was.

"Well, did you get us free?" Charles impatiently inquired.

Hawkeye ignored the question and stared down at the broken thermometer, in confusion.

Winchester saw the look and glared, disgustedly, down at their patient. "In his delirium, Captain Hunnicutt deliberately bit it in two!"

Hawkeye found the Major's explanation a bit much and turned to B.J. for his version of the event.

"It's your own fault!" B.J. reminded his disgusted doctor. "You and your fever fetish!" He turned to Pierce. "Kept shoving the darn thing…in my mouth…every five minutes!…My lips…were getting blisters!"

Hawkeye stooped beside his feverish friend and straightened his soggy blanket. "I thought I told you to be nice to the sitter," he lightly scolded.

B.J. looked terribly innocent and more than a little amused. "I was being nice!" he stated defensively and got another deeply skeptical grunt out of Winchester.

"In that case," Hawkeye forced a smile and gripped his friend's wrist, reassuringly, "be nicer!"

B.J. saw right through the 'forced' smile. "What is it, Hawk?…What's wrong?"

Pierce's forced smile suddenly turned geniune. He and Hunnicutt had a sixth sense about each other's feelings. And, even B.J.'s high fever couldn't keep it from working. "Nothing's really wrong. I just finally figured something out, is all. The Koreans didn't build _low_ bridges. All that rain we got just made the river _high_...too high to float down to Seoul on this thing. And that's why that old man had it tied to that tree. He died while he was waiting for the water level to go back down. We're jammed in under this bridge so tight," he hesitated. "We won't be going anywhere until the river goes down," he hesitated again. "I'm sorry, Beej. Guess this isn't the Slowboat to Seoul, after all," his words trailed off and he hung his head.

B.J. failed to discern any problem. "Don't worry about it, Hawk!…Believe me…we ain't missing a thing!…Seoul ain't…all it's cracked up to be...especially…this time of year…You can't believe…everything you read...in those travel brochures," he stopped talking and shook his hot, dizzy head again. The room kept right on spinning and he was forced to close his eyes to keep from getting sick. "We're trapped…under a bridge…Better watch out…for Trolls."

Pierce opened his watering eyes, lifted his weary head and stared down at his feverish friend in both amazement and amusement. "Has anyone told you lately that you talk too much?"

Charles raised a hand. "I have."

"Talk about Trolls..." Captain Hunnicutt jokingly complained.

Hawkeye grinned and gave B.J.'s wrist one last reassuring squeeze before straightening up and stepping out of earshot for a muffled conference with Winchester.

B.J. strained to make something out of their murmurings, but couldn't. He gasped in frustration. "Can't you guys…mumble any louder…than that?"

Hawkeye turned back to him. "We could," he admitted. "But we didn't think you'd be interested. Doctor talk, you know."

"Yes," Charles concurred. "We are having a consultation concerning the cause of you delirium."

"We've already ruled out food poisoning," Hawkeye teased.

B.J. grinned.

"And laryngitis! Unfortunately," Charles added, annoyedly.

B.J. snickered softly and then lay there, moaning.

Charles promptly administered another dose of the disgusting laudanum. "Stop talking!" he sternly ordered. "Just relax and try to _conserve_ your energy!"

B.J.'s smile returned. "Are you kidding?…My body...couldn't get…any more…relaxed!"

"Well, then just concentrate on relaxing your _jaw_!" Hawkeye lightly suggested.

"Sure...it's getting a bit sore…anyway," Hunnicutt confessed, and grinned, as he got two frustrated gasps for his efforts.

The two frustrated physicians noted that their grinning patient was silent at last and went back to their consultation.

"What's his temperature?" Hawkeye wondered, in a whisper.

"104.8," Charles solemnly reported.

Hawkeye appeared more than a little grave and solemn himself. "What about his lungs?"

"I was just about to check," Winchester stared down at the broken instrument in his hand, "when I was _distracted_," he finished, politely.

Hawkeye looked terribly frustrated and uncertain. "If it is pneumonia, or sepsis, the sooner we get some penicillin into him, the better. I think I should go for help."

"I think we should stay _together_. It did _not_ rain today. Wonder of wonders. The water level _will_ recede. And, we will be _on our way_ again."

Should he go for help? Or, should he stay? Pierce needed to make the right decision.

"I say we stay," B.J. suddenly, and softly, determinedly. "We…as in all of us…And that makes it…two to one…and the majority rules…unless, of course…we're still in Communist…North Korea…in which case…we'd be committing mutin--" he was forced to stop talking, as a hand was suddenly placed over his mouth...again. His blue eyes opened and he blinked them into focus.

Hawkeye smiled down at their talkative patient and then pulled his hand back. "I believe it was the noted Charles Emerson Winchester the III who once said: 'Delirious doctors should be seen and not heard."

"Noted?" B.J.'s eyes sparkled with amusement. "Noted for what?"

Pierce shrugged. "It was never noted."

Hunnicutt looked even more amused.

Charles looked irritated, and then smug. "I dare say, it could not have been for the _intelligence_ of the company he kept!"

His companions exchanged grins.

B.J. suddenly turned deadly serious. "We need to stay…together, Hawk…We need to…_all_…stay _together_."

"I'll stick around, if you will," Pierce promised his pal.

B.J. relaxed and his eyes closed. "Then…I'll do my best…to stick around."

End of Chapter Eleven


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

"You're awake," Margaret glumly realized, as she approached Lieutenant Ron Ames' hospital cot. It was after 0:200. "Are you in any pain?"

"No, ma'am," the patient promptly replied. "Just can't sleep, is all."

Neither could she. "Would you like me to bring you a sedative?"

"Nah. Man! That's something about the Chinese pulling back, huh?"

"It's a miracle," the Major agreed.

"I hear you're moving out," Lt. Ames told the preoccupied nurse, fluffing his pillow.

"Yes," the woman admitted. "The men have already left." She finished fluffing and fussing and gave the young officer a warm smile.

He returned the smile, then suddenly looked a little sad. "I'm gonna miss you, Major."

"Haven't you heard?"

"Haven't I heard what?"

"Communist guerrillas attacked U.S. Army Headquarters in Seoul last night. There were several terrorist bombings in the city. The entire east wing of the Army Hospital was damaged. Fortunately, no one was killed. Unfortunately, that makes them pretty short of beds down there. We've been ordered to set up a Non-mobile Army Surgical Hospital back at our home base in Wau-Jam-Bou. We'll be handling MASH unit patient's who would normally have been air-lifted down to Seoul."

The young Lieutenant brightened. "You mean, guys like me?"

The nurse nodded. "The choppers'll be coming in at first light. So you should probably try to get some sleep."

The Lieutenant studied the Major's compassionate face carefully and quietly confided, "I would rest a whole lot easier if you were ta stay here with me awhile…and talk."

"Very well, Lieutenant," Margaret uneasily agreed and pulled up a chair. "What would you like to talk about?"

"My name's Ron," he introduced, with a grin. "And it doesn't really matter. I just love the sound of your voice."

Major Houlihan looked a wee bit embarrassed and hesitated to speak. There was only one thing on her mind, and she didn't want to discuss it--especially not with this particular patient. "Okay. What d'yah say we talk about ourselves. You go first..."

The young officer thought of how enjoyable the second half of the conversation was going to be, and began. "My name's Ronald Matthew Ames. I'm 31 years old and I'm from Coldwater Springs, Colorado. My father is English. My mother is full-blooded Cheyenne. I graduated from the University of Colorado with a bachelor's degree in science and I'm presently working on my Masters in Biochemistry.

I spend my summers giving visitors guided tours through the Rockies, on horseback, and the rest of the year teaching Biology to High School Sophomores on the Coldwater Indian Reservation. I'm single and I wish I had the courage and conviction to go to prison rather than war. But I cherish my freedom as much as I value human life. " He paused, looking rather thoughtful and sad. "When I was drafted, I became a prisoner of the Army...and ended up losing both."

There was a solemn silence.

Then the young officer forced himself to brighten again. "Your turn."

Margaret stared sadly down at him for a very long time. She wasn't used to thinking of mutilated bodies as real, live people with backgrounds and personalities. She couldn't afford that luxury. When bodies came and went, they left only traces of blood. When people came and went, they left memories of moments shared together. The nurse's eyes watered. Her throat tightened, making it difficult for her to speak. Even if she had wanted to--which she definitely did not. Her heart ached…its empty chambers unable to bear the absence of three very special people...three very dear friends.

Ron slowly reached out and took her hand in his.

She blinked her vision clear and saw him giving her an understanding, sympathetic look.

He gripped her hand, reassuringly.

There was a long, comfortable silence, as neither of them felt the need to speak.

People didn't always have to communicate with _words_.

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Unfortunately, one delirious doctor failed to realize that fact.

B.J. rambled on...and on …and on, into the wee hours of the morning.

Captain Hunnicutt's feverish brain felt like it was on fire. Wave after wave of dizziness washed over him and he wasn't sure how much longer he could remain conscious. But, B.J. couldn't leave just yet. He was afraid _Hawkeye_ would leave, if he did. "Know what this…reminds me of?" he quietly inquired.

His colleagues ignored the question, in the futile hope that _then_ he wouldn't tell them.

He ignored there ignoring and told them, anyway. "Tom Sawyer."

They refused to allow even the slightest glint of curiosity to escape and continued to ignore him.

Hunnicutt continued to ignore their ignoring and continued. "Tom...and Huck...and Joe Harper…were missing on the river...Everybody thought…they were dead…Do you suppose…everybody thinks…we're dead?"

(No answer.)

"I know…I'm not dead...Dead people don't talk."

"Indee-eed!" Winchester could not resist commenting. "You-ou must be **the** most _alive_ person on the entire planet!"

B.J. grinned and snickered.

There was but a brief silence.

Their patient opened one blurry eye a crack and stared up at the person, who had just placed a freshly cooled, damp cloth upon his burning forehead. "How 'bout it, Huck?" he wondered, with a grin. "Do you s'pose…they think…we're dead?"

'Huck' saw his friend giving him half of a questioning stare and felt obligated to come up with some sort of a reply. "I reckon they _might_, Tom."

Tom aimed his one-eyed gaze at Winchester. "Did you hear that, Joe?…Huck thinks maybe…they _might_ think…we're dead."

The Major shuddered at the grammatical abuse and grimaced at Hunnicutt's character reference. "I would be most grateful if you would not address _me_ when referring to that barefooted candidate for a reformatory!"

Tom's other eye opened and he turned back to Huck. "Just pretend…he isn't here, Huck," he suggested. Upon seeing Huck's puzzled look, he added, "Becky Thatcher…isn't in…this chapter."

Huck was forced to grin.

'Becky' didn't seem to mind, in the least, that the humor was at his expense. Laughter was the best medicine, for ailing bodies and spirits. And so, Major Winchester was more than willing to _buy_ a round.

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Captain Hutchinson and his men had been walking all night.

They'd been cut off from the rest of their company by the Chinese, who had forced them several miles back behind allied lines.

Hutchinson, and what was left of his unit, had been using the sound of Chinese rifle fire as sort of a compass, pointing in the direction of North. But then the Chinese, and their battle sounds, just up and vanished, leaving the Americans _lost_.

To top it all off, their radio had been knocked out.

Luckily, they happened to stumble across a road. Even more fortunately, the road had led them to a river.

Captain Hutchinson was no longer _entirely_ lost. He knew the river flowed south. If he and his men followed it downstream far enough, they were bound to reach an allied command post, or a village, eventually.

They had just crossed a bridge and were about to leave the road and begin following the river south, when a young soldier came trotting up to Hutchinson in the dark.

"Cap," the young man whispered breathlessly, "I heard noises under the bridge."

"What _kind_ of noises, Inman?"

"I'm not sure, sir. It sounded like voices."

"Haven't you ever heard of a _babbling_ brook, private?"

"Yes, sir. But there are no rapids under the bridge, sir."

Hutchinson thought the private's observation over. "Okay, Inman. You have my permission to take two of the men and check it out. We'll wait here five minutes. And then I'm gonna start dreaming up a lot of very nasty details for you to work on when we finally get back."

"Yes, sir!" Inman nervously acknowledged and went trotting off.

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Private Inman dangled precariously over the edge of the bridge. "A little lower!" he called back over his shoulder, in a whisper.

His two companions tightened their grips on his ankles and lowered him some more.

Inman swung his light over the black, murky surface of the water. He stiffened, as its narrow beam suddenly illuminated the wooden planks of the deck of some sort of boat. "Hand me my rifle!" he whispered, excitedly.

"You find something?"

Inman thought of making a snide remark, but passed the opportunity up. "Hand me my rifle and I'll let you know!" They passed him his rifle and he trained it, and his light, on the bobbing boat. "Ee-shee-kee-mo-tai!" he shouted, menacingly.

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The three surgeons inside the hut suddenly froze.

"Was that Chinese? Or Korean?" Charles anxiously inquired.

He and Hawkeye turned to Hunnicutt, for an answer.

"I have no idea," B.J. told them. "But I believe…it was delivered…with a Brooklyn…accent."

"Don't shoot!" Hawkeye shouted. "We're Americans! We're doctors! And, most importantly, we're _unarmed_!"

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Inman was rather startled himself. "How do I know you're really Americans?"

"If you promise not to shoot us, we'll come out and show you our non-oriental looking faces!"

Inman hesitated.

"Let 'em come out and show you their faces!" one of his tiring companions pleaded, "Before we drop you!" he added, as an incentive.

"Okay!" Inman agreed, at last. "But no tricks and keep your hands in the air!"

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"You go first," Pierce told Winchester.

The Major hesitated. "This is your idea."

"You have the American uniform and face."

Charles thought that remark over for a few moments. Then, failing to find fault with it, he reluctantly ducked out onto the deck, with his empty hands held high in the air.

Captain Pierce followed closely with his arms also elevated.

"Plea-ease, do not shoot us!" Winchester desperately pleaded and stood there, like a statue. He squinted, as a bright light was flashed in his face.

"Sorry, Major," a voice apologized and the light was lowered. "What are you guys doing out here at this time of night…sir?"

"May we lower our arms now?" Charles pondered, pitifully.

"Oh. Yes. Of course, sir."

The two doctors breathed audible sighs of relief and dropped their weary arms to their sides.

"We're lost," Pierce glumly announced.

"So are we!"

"We got separated from our unit."

"So did we!"

"Inman! We either pull you up now, or we let go. Which is it?" an annoyed second voice impatiently inquired.

"I've gotta go topside, sirs," Inman explained. "But we'll be right back, with Captain Hutchinson."

"We'll be right here when you get back," Hawkeye promised the private, as he was hoisted up out of sight with his light. "Unless the water level takes a sudden drastic drop," he muttered, ducking back inside the hut.

Charles closely followed.

Pierce stepped up to his feverish friend. "It won't be long now, Beej," he softly assured him. He suddenly remembered something, something important. "The Lieutenant wants us to forget him."

B.J.'s face remained expressionless. "What Lieutenant?" The barely conscious Captain suddenly remembered something rather important, himself and forced his blurry eyes open. "For the record...if anybody asks...I stepped…in front of a bus."

There was a period of thoughtful silence.

He got two nods from two Charles' and two nods from two Hawkeyes.

B.J. smiled and let his burning eyes droop closed again. It was nice to be surrounded by friends...really…_good_...friends. A tsunami of dizziness and exhaustion engulfed him, and he was swept away.

Pierce and Winchester watched as B.J.'s head suddenly rolled to one side and he was still. At long last, their patient was perfectly _still_.

Their hut boat bobbed, slightly.

The muffled sound of boot heels crossing the wooden deck was followed by a rather loud knock on the door.

"Major? Captain Hutchinson, here. May I come in, sir?"

Even the Bostonian found the officer's politeness and protocol a bit much. He turned to Pierce. "Captain, may he?" he lightly inquired.

"Yes. He may," Hawkeye politely replied.

Charles passed the permission along. "Yes. You may."

Their little hut brightened, as their visitor entered with his light.

"Better wait outside," the officer advised his men, when he saw the cramped quarters. Why, he could barely straighten up, to salute. "Captain Hutchinson, Major!" he snappily declared. "8th Regimental Combat Division."

The Major ignored the salute and extended his hand, instead. "I am Major Winchester," he introduced, and shook the officer's hand, cordially. "This is Captain Pierce."

The two Captains exchanged nods and handshakes.

Winchester watched, as Hutchinson's eyes suddenly riveted on B.J.'s motionless, heavily bandaged form. "That is Captain Hunnicutt."

"What happened to him, sir?"

The two doctors glanced solemnly at one another.

"He, uh...met with an unfortunate accident," Charles obligingly explained.

"Yes," Hawkeye quickly contributed. "Stepped in front of a bus. Darndest thing you ever saw."

The Major noted Captain Hutchinson's nervous, suspicious stare and immediately changed the subject. "The three of us are surgeons with the 4077th M.A.S.H. unit." He glanced down at his watch. "It will be light shortly. We would appreciate it if you could arrange for a chopper to airlift us to the nearest medical facility."

"Wish I could help, Major. But our radio's out. Been out for a couple a' days now. The last thing we contacted with it was an enemy grenade," he stopped talking and stared at the two completely shattered looking surgeons. "I'll tell you what I will do, though. I'll leave some of my men here with you and then go on down stream like I planned. We're bound to reach a radio eventually. I can send a chopper back for you."

Winchester heaved a heavy sigh of disappointment then forced an appropriately polite response. "Thank you, Captain. Yes. Do that," he strongly urged. The physician's gaze shifted to his unconscious patient. "And _please_ _hurry_, will you?"

Hutchinson nodded and disappeared.

End of Chapter Twelve


	14. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Colonel Potter shielded his tired eyes against the brilliant glare of the rising sun and stared fondly off across a makeshift corral, at his beautiful lady.

"She looks good, Colonel-san?" the young Korean boy at his side hopefully inquired.

"She looks good, Wang," Potter assured him with a smile, and ruffled the boy's raven black hair. "You've done a fine job of taking care of her, son. I couldn't've done better, myself."

A smile crossed the boy's face and he literally radiated with pride.

At the sound of Potter's voice, the mare's head had perked up. Her ears flicked back and forth and from side to side, in an attempt to hone in on the source of the sound. Her eyes riveted on a familiar figure and she momentarily froze all motion. Then, satisfied that her memory hadn't failed her, as to her master's appearance, she let out an exuberant whinny and came trotting up to the fence.

"Ahhh, Sophie girl," the Colonel softly declared. "Thanks! I'm glad to see _you_ again, too!"

The mare nuzzled his shoulder, affectionately and stood there, visibly trembling with excitement.

Potter patted her sleek, well-muscled neck. "Thanks, girl. It's good to be back."

The boy gave them both a wondering stare.

The mare nickered, softly.

"She says she missed me," he explained, for the boy's benefit.

Wang's wide eyes filled with even greater wonder.

The soft orange glow of the sunrise struck the mare's sleek red coat. The effect was stunning.

Potter ran his hand over her silky hide.

"Wang brush 3 times a day," the young groom proudly announced. "Ladies plenty fussy about their hair."

The Colonel chuckled delightedly. "Ain't that the truth!" He turned to the road, as Sergeant Klinger came driving up in a jeep.

"Thought I'd find you here, sir!" Klinger confessed and climbed stiffly out.

Potter gave his Sergeant a thorough scrutinization and didn't like what he saw.

Klinger's face was unshaven, his look was drawn and haggard, and his shoulders sagged with fatigue.

Why, it was almost like looking in a mirror!

Their tired, bloodshot eyes met.

"I hate to bother you, Colonel. But, the docs over at the 8063rd just called. They wanna know if we're ready for the first EVACs, yet."

His C.O. looked curious. "Are we?"

"How should I know? I'm just a clerk…sir."

Sophie tugged playfully at the Colonel's sleeve and let out several more low nickers.

Potter grinned. "Sophie says that clerks know more than colonels do. She says that clerks are the ones who _really_ run things. And, she says that if _you_ can't answer those doctors, **I** certainly can't."

Both the boy and Klinger were staring wonderingly at the horse.

The Sergeant looked a little uncertain. But then, he gradually came to accept the noble looking beast's rather lofty opinion of him. He drew his weary shoulders back and exhibited an aura of recently acquired self-confidence. "Well, we've got our old Post Op just about set up. Those guys from Seoul are still hammering the materials for the new Post Ops together. That means we have 12 beds ready and we can have another 12 ready, by the time the first choppers get here." He brightened. "I'll call the 8063rd and tell them we're ready for the first EVACs, sir."

Potter nodded approvingly. "And, when the ladies get here, we men-folk can get some sorely-needed shut-eye."

Klinger grinned and started heading for the jeep. "Want a lift back to camp, Colonel?"

"Thanks, Sergeant! But, Sophie's already volunteered to get me back. And, I prefer her one horsepower to your forty."

"I understand, sir!" the Sergeant assured him, as he climbed in behind the wheel. "Giddy up!" he ordered his forty horses…and they did.

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Major Houlihan left some last minute instructions with her nurses. Then she clutched her cap to her head and went running over to the warming-up EVAC chopper in a crouched position, one she had perfected through years of practice.

"I'll be with you all the way!" she informed Lieutenant Ames, as his stretcher was strapped to one of the carriage racks on the sides of the 'copter.

"And, I'll be with _you_ all the way!" her patient painfully shouted back, over the loud, rhythmic whirring of the rapidly rotating blades. He grinned, as his nurse was forced to smile.

Margaret checked to make sure all the straps were pulled snugly. She gave her patient's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Then she scrambled up into the empty seat beside the pilot, and strapped herself in.

Lieutenant Mullen finished speaking into his headset's mouthpiece and turned to the pretty blonde in the seat beside him. "Sorry, Major!" he shouted. "But, I gotta head this thing North in a big hurry! _Empty_!" The chopper pilot motioned for the orderlies to unload the stretchers they'd just finished loading.

"Wha-at? Why-y?" the nurse angrily demanded.

Mullen tapped his headset. "Just got word from HQ! The 8th Regimental Combat Division reports a casualty needing an immediate airlift!"

'A casualty?' They weren't expecting any casualties. The nurse's anger returned. "Well, couldn't they send someone else?"

The pilot gave her an apologetic shrug. "I must be the closest available chopper!"

The miffed Major stomped her foot. "Oo-ooh, the Army!" she bitterly declared and began unstrapping herself from her seat. "Alright! Go, Mullen! But, hurry back!"

The Lieutenant signaled 'okay'.

Margaret jumped out, ducked down and scrambled clear of the chopper's rotor wash.

Mullen throttled up. His aircraft began to rise. It hovered at near ground level, until the whine of its engine reached a satisfactory pitch. The pilot pulled the chopper up and away.

The Major hung onto her cap with one hand and shielded her eyes from the windblown debris with her other. "Leave it to the Army, to screw things up!"

"They're _alive_!" Lieutenant Davis breathlessly announced, as she came running up.

Houlahan turned to the nearly hysterical nurse and gripped her trembling arms with trembling hands. "Hawkeye? And B.J.? And Charles?"

Davis nodded, vigorously and grinned from ear to ear.

"They're _alive_," Margaret dared to repeat. Then she flung her arms around the bringer of such gloriously _good_ news and jumped for joy.

The two deliriously happy nurses stood there, jumping up and down and hugging each other.

They were but a miniature model of the large-scale rejoicing going on among the members of the 4077th, both in Seijo and Wau-Jam-Bou.

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Lieutenant Mullen skimmed over the treetops. Suddenly, the river was below him. He swung south and followed the murky-brown ribbon of water to the little village of Weiku. The casualty's location was five bridges north of Weiku, he'd been told. He turned his craft around and started counting bridges.

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"Five!" the pilot said aloud and brought his chopper around to hover directly over the fifth bridge north of Weiku. Mullen stared disbelievingly down at the small group of GIs crouched below him. Two of the faces were terribly familiar to him and there was something frighteningly familiar about the _casualty_'s mustache, as well. "Don't that beat all!" he muttered to himself, and gently set down in the center of the wooden-beamed bridge. He watched them strap Doctor Winchester and Doctor Hunnicutt onto his carriage racks.

Doctor Pierce tossed a sack and a medical bag aboard and then climbed into the empty seat beside him. "Get this thing in the air!" he ordered and started strapping himself in.

"Yes, sir!" the pilot acknowledged and began easing the throttle forward. "Where to, sir?" he wondered, as they started gaining altitude. "Half of the 4077th is in Seijo with Major Houlihan and half is in Wau-Jam-Bou with Colonel Potter!"

Pierce looked perplexed, but refrained from questioning the pilot. "Take us to the half that's _closest_!" he solemnly requested.

Mullen nodded and headed his helo' in the direction of Seijo.

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"What do you mean, you _don't know_?" Major Houlihan curtly addressed the 8063rd's company clerk.

The cowering Corporal reluctantly lowered the clipboard he'd been hiding behind and forced himself to face the aggravated woman. "I mean, ma'am, that HQ doesn't know."

The Major looked even more upset. "Well, how can they know they're alive, if they have no clue where they are?"

An excited female came barging into the office just then and saved him from having to answer. "Forget it, Major!" Lieutenant Davis breathlessly advised. "I know where they are! They're _here_! I just saw Hawkeye climb out of Mullen's chopper!"

Margaret's soaring spirits suddenly stalled. 'Davis must be mistaken,' she assured herself and followed the Lieutenant out the door, praying that she was mistaken. Mullen's chopper was bringing in a…casualty. 'Yes. That's it. Pierce is a doctor. He must have decided to leave the others and accompany the casualty back to camp.' She saw Charles follow a stretcher into the 8063rd's Pre-Op.

Hawkeye was right behind him.

But there was no sign of B.J..

Hawkeye shrugged off an affectionate embrace from Lieutenant Kelly, apologized to the puzzled woman and then brushed past several other shaken, solemn members of their all-female welcoming committee.

Margaret caught up to him, just as he was about to enter the 8063rd's Pre-Op, and latched onto him by the arm. "Where have you been?" she demanded, her voice an equal mixture of joy and aggravation.

Hawkeye reluctantly came to a halt and even more reluctantly turned to face her.

Their eyes met and the physically and emotionally drained man gave her _the_ most penetrating…_the_ most moving look she'd ever witnessed. A knot began to form in the nurse's stomach.

"Later," he told her, his usually vibrant voice sounding hollow.

The knot in her stomach tightened. "Where's B.J.?" she nervously inquired and stood there, dreading his answer.

Hawkeye slowly turned his solemn gaze to the open door to Pre-Op.

She released his arm and started brushing past him.

He grabbed _her_, this time. "If you wanna help, find us some ice. Crushed ice…and lots of it," he added, as an afterthought, and then entered the Pre-Op.

Margaret stood frozen for a few moments. Then, she semi-recovered from her shock and forced herself to move. "Come with me!" she ordered, motioning to several of the still-stunned nurses.

They glanced uncertainly at one another and then did.

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Pierce stepped into Pre-Op. He found the 8063rd's entire surgical staff already working on the…casualty. There were five doctors, counting Winchester, and eight nurses treating his friend.

Speaking of B.J….His boots had been removed and his clothes and bandages cut away. The unconscious Captain's completely nude body was covered, from head to toe, with contusions. Speaking of toes…With the exception of his feet, there wasn't an area on B.J.'s entire body that _wasn't_ black and blue!

Hawkeye leaned forward and hurled the remains of his rice cake meal into a small wastebasket, at his feet.

And, he wasn't the only one sickened by the ghastly sight of his friend's tortured form.

Several of the surgeons cut loose with some rather colorful oaths and a few of the nurses had to step out for some air.

Oxygen was administered, IVs were started, blood was drawn, and tests, antibiotics and x-rays were ordered.

Hawkeye watched a nurse squeezing an ambu-bag over the patient's motionless mouth.

His _favorite_ favorite friend was fighting for his life.

'Dead people don't talk.' Hunnicutt had spoken truthfully.

Tears formed and fell, silently, down Hawkeye's grimy, unshaven face. B.J.'s ashen-complexion became a bluish-gray blur. The room started spinning. He felt his legs giving way and the Pre-Op floor came rushing up to meet him.

"Da-amn!" Charles had tried, unsuccessfully, to grab the fainting physician under the arms and prevent his falling. He had, however, managed to keep the collapsing doctor's head from striking the edge of an examination table. "Stretcher!" he anxiously requested, and positioned Pierce's crumpled body comfortably on the floor.

He examined the motionless man and then sighed in relief, as he realized that Captain Pierce had just passed out cold. '_Just_ passed out cold?' He thought of the heinous ordeal they'd just endured together…and its affects on them.

As a direct result of it, one of them was deathly _ill_…one of them was dead _beat_…and one of them was…a little of both.

"Give him intravenous fluids and a mild sedative," he prescribed, as Pierce was lifted onto a stretcher. "Get him cleaned up and put him to bed. Then, I want you to see to it that he _stays_ there!"

The nurses nodded and the orderlies obediently carted the collapsed Captain from the room.

A medical technician entered Pre-Op. "We're ready for 'im!"

"Start with his lungs and right shoulder," Winchester suggested. "We already know that his left wrist and several ribs are broken. Someone mix up some plaster!" he requested and then followed Captain Hunnicutt's stretcher into X-Ray.

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"Major, Lieutenant Mullen is waiting for you!" Nurse Davis announced, stepping into Post-Op.

"Let 'im wait!" Margaret barked back. "Where's Pierce? The ice is _melting_!"

As if in answer, the doors to the O.R. swung open and a freshly-bathed, but mildly sedated and so still unconscious, Captain Pierce was carried into the room, accompanied by a couple of 8063rd nurses. One of whom was carrying an inverted IV bottle.

"What happened to _him_?" Houlahan anxiously demanded.

"Captain Pierce passed out, Major," one of the nurses promptly explained. "Major Winchester ordered sedation and fluids intravenously. He's not to get out of bed."

That was not a satisfactory answer, as far as Margaret was concerned. "Where is Major Winchester?"

"He's in the Lab with Major Eaden, waiting to read Captain Hunnicutt's x-rays."

Major Houlahan marched into the O.R..

Captain Hunnicutt was lying, unconscious, on an operating table, with a bevy of doctors and nurses working on, over and around him.

Margaret saw B.J. for the first time in two days. His present physical condition shocked her so greatly that she exhaled an audible gasp of horror.

The comatose Captain's ashen complexion contrasted nicely with the deep purple bruise on his cheek. His right shoulder was immobilized with a clean, white cravat. His left wrist sported a pearly-white cast of still-drying plaster. His right wrist bore a neat, white gauze dressing and the rest of him was wrapped, head-to-toe, with white strips of bandages. They had B.J. bound up like an Egyptian mummy!

Margaret at last found her voice. "What are all those bandages for? Has he been burned?"

"These are pressure dressings, Major," the 8063rd's Captain McMaster solemnly informed her.

'Pressure dressings?' Major Houlahan stared at the young doctor in confusion. Pressure dressings were applied to help heal hematomas and severe contusions… The nurse's dazed gaze returned to the deep bruise on B.J.'s cheek.

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Lieutenant Davis gazed sadly down at Captain Pierce's uncharacteristically still form.

Oh, the three of them were back, all right! But this was definitely _not_ the way she had envisioned their reunion would be! She had expected a lot of laughter and embracing and tears. But all she'd seen of her vision so far were the tears…and even they were not of the proper variety!

She sighed in frustration and disappointment. She was frustrated that she couldn't change matters any and disappointed that things hadn't turned out the way she'd hoped…and prayed they would.

She saw one of the 8063rd's nurses preparing to shave Hawkeye's sedated, expressionless face. "Allow me," she told her and snatched the razor from the woman's hand before she could protest. 'It's not much. But it's more constructive than crying,' she reasoned to herself.

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Major Winchester jerked, startled, as the door to X-Ray flew open with a forceful 'boof'.

Major Houlahan came stomping in. "Cha-arles! Where have you been? And, what on earth happened to B.J.?" she angrily demanded, in one lo-ong breath.

There was a dull 'thud-thud-thudding' as the abused doors gradually swung to a standstill.

'The woman enters a room with all the grace and dignity of a North Korean soldier,' Charles thought, sarcastically. He noticed the nurse's cold, hostile stare and gave voice to his sarcasm. "Ahhh, Margaret! I see you have come to celebrate our safe return. Thank you for your concern! It is wonderful to see _you_ again, as well."

Margaret caught the hurt and sarcasm in Winchester's words. She suddenly felt like a first-class heel. She hadn't meant to come across so callously. It was just that her emotions were wreaking havoc with her actions. She gasped in exasperation. "I apologize. It's just that first, I thought you were all _dead_. And then, I thought you were all _alive_. Then, Mullen brings in a _casualty_…and it turns out to be _one of you_!" She stopped for air and stood there, feeling even more exasperated.

Charles gave the exasperated woman a sympathetic, understanding, forgiving smile and opened his arms.

She rushed into them and the two recently reunited friends gave each other a proper greeting.

Her eyes moistened. "Hawkeye looked so…so done in," she quietly continued. "And B.J…." She slowly lifted her head from the doctor's comforting shoulder. "I saw the bruise on his cheek and all those bandages. And I got to thinking of the horrible time you must have—"

"—There, there, Margaret," Charles suddenly interrupted. "It is all in the past. We are here now," he reassured her and reached up to tenderly brush a tear from her cheek.

She noticed the strange burn mark that encircled his wrist.

He saw that she saw the scar and started to pull his hand back.

She latched onto his wrist and stood there, recalling the gauze bandage on B.J.'s right wrist. Was it concealing an identical scar? Her stomach retched. "Tell me this is _not_ a rope burn!" she begged.

The scar's owner hung his weary head and remained silent.

Margaret dropped his rope-burned wrist, covered her mouth with her hands and then hurried from the room, looking like she was going to be sick.

"He stepped in front of a bus!" Charles shouted and took several steps after her. He stopped at the doors and stood there, cursing to himself. He stared at the closed doors for a rather long time, lost in thought. Then he gasped in exasperation and slowly reached up to massage the taut tired muscles in the back of his stiff neck. "Da-amn!"

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"Hey, Major—" Private Benson steadied the pale, shaken nurse as she came stumbling out of some bushes on the edge of the 8063rd's compound, "—are you alright?"

The woman turned slowly to face him and nodded, numbly.

"I've been trying to find you," Benson went on. "It's the Lieutenant. I think somebody told him about the doctors being missing and all. We gotta ship out a' here in just a few more minutes. I was wonderin' if you could sort a' look after him for us. Yah see, he was okay, when we said goodbye before. But now…I don't think he's feelin' so hot."

Major Houlahan wasn't exactly feelin' so hot, herself. The two of them would make good company. "Of course, Benson," she softly assured him and started stumbling off in the direction of her waiting ride. "We'll take good care of each other! Good luck, Private!" she called back over her shoulder.

"Thank you, ma'am! Good luck to you, too!"

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"Colonel Potter, sir! I've been looking all over for you!" Klinger told his C.O., when he finally came cantering up. "They're _alive!_" he exclaimed, looking and sounding deliriously happy.

Potter stiffened in his saddle and stared incredulously down at his company clerk. "You mean, Hawkeye…and B.J….and Cha-arles?"

Klinger nodded vigorously and stood there, grinning from ear to ear.

The Colonel let out a rather undignified, "Yahoo-oo!" and tossed his cavalry cap in the air. He then leaned forward and hugged his horse. "Sorry, Old Girl, but I lied!" He saw his Sergeant giving him a strange stare and smiled. "I told her that nothing made me happier than a nice morning ride!" he explained. He immediately dismounted and stepped up to his nodding clerk for some more hugging…and even a little backslapping.

When the exuberance died down some, Potter stepped back and stared the teller of glad tidings straight in the eyes. "Well, c'mon, son! Let's have it! Give me all of the glorious details!"

Klinger's grin slowly vanished. "I just did, sir. HQ doesn't know any _more_ than that."

His C.O.'s own grin disappeared and his look of incredulity returned. "Balderdash! They must at least know _where_ they are!"

"That's what I thought, too, Colonel," Klinger confessed. "But I called all over and no one seems to know anything…except that they're _alive_," he summed up and his smile reappeared. His smile did another disappearing act. "I don't know where the EVACs are, either, sir. They should have been here by 0-800 hours."

Potter gritted his teeth. His eyes narrowed into steely-blue slits. "Sergeant, I don't know about you. But I've had about all I can take of this Army's pitiful breakdown in communications! Nobody tells us to bug-out! Nobody tells us where our doctors are! Heck, we don't even know where our patients are, no-ow!"

Klinger gave his steamed C.O. one last disgusted nod of vehement agreement.

The Camp's Commander stopped shouting and turned back to his mount. "Get General Embrey on the line! No use wasting all this anger on us! We already know how bad the situation is!"

"Yes, sir!" Klinger acknowledged, wholeheartedly. He was just about to leave, when a familiar 'chop-chop-chopping' sound came wafting through the air. He turned to his C.O.. "You still want me to call the General, sir?"

"Damn straight!" Potter replied and kept right on unsaddling his horse. "One out of three is _lousy_ odds!"

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The Colonel greeted Major Houlahan as she descended the trail from the heli-pad to the camp. "Welcome home, Margaret! Have you heard the good news?"

"Thank you, Colonel. It's good to be back here. Yes, I have," she coolly replied and stepped right on past him, carrying Lt. Ames' inverted IV bottle in her raised right hand.

Potter found the woman's impersonal attitude annoying, if not confusing. "I don't suppose you happen to know _where_ they are?" he called hopefully after her.

"Yes. I do!" she shouted back.

The Colonel found the female's less than enthusiastic reply so out of place that, for a moment, he wasn't sure he'd heard her right. "You _do-o_?" he exclaimed and ran to catch up with her. "Have you seen them? Are they alright?"

The Major sighed and forced herself to reply. "Yes. I've seen them…" she hesitated. "Look, sir…How 'bout we talk _after_ I put this patient to bed?"

Potter suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable. "That'll be fine, Major."

End of Chapter Thirteen


	15. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

Major Winchester had personally examined his patients one last time before heading out of Post-Op to, as he so poetically put it, 'bathe…to breakfast…and to bed.'

A-and, owing to his superlative skills as a surgeon, he did, somehow, manage to survive a debilitated razorial assault upon his Augean visage. He even made it halfway through his bath before the relaxing hot shower drugged what diminutive vitality remained of his exceedingly diminished senses.

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And, that was how Major Eaden discovered him…sitting in a steaming shower stall slumped over, sleeping soundly.

Eaden hung the fresh set of fatigues and skivvies he was carrying, on a hook by the door.

It no doubt had taken an extreme degree of exhaustion to drive the prideful man to seek recumbence in such an unbecoming berth. It no doubt would require an equally extreme degree of stimulation to rouse the overly fatigued physician from such a repose.

Eaden stepped back up to the steaming shower stall and reluctantly gave one the dangling chains above the dozing doctor's head a yank. He deeply regretted this callous action. He could think of no one more undeserving of such seemingly cold-hearted treatment.

The shower continued but the steam disappeared and Winchester's pathetic pink form became clearly visible. The Major's eyes snapped open. He let out an anguished cry and gasped at the breathtakingly rude awakening he'd just received.

Eaden gave him an empathetic, apologetic look and the second chain a tug, terminating his chilly torture.

Charles wiped the icy droplets from his face and gave Eaden a look, which said: 'If it were not for your rank, you would be digging a latrine to _China_!' At last, his breath returned and, with it, his voice. "Whatever possessed you to perpetrate such an unpardonable act of cruelty?" he angrily demanded.

Eaden couldn't help but notice that the Major seemed more annoyed by his display of bad manners, than he was by the actual deed, itself. He was forced to look away. It wouldn't' do for his upset colleague to see his amused expression. "I really am sorry," he said, sincerely, and stepped around to open the stall door. He helped the sputtering, agitated man to his bare feet. "But this unit has just been ordered to bug-out."

Winchester stared, disbelievingly.

"It's true! Word just came down. We're heading north and you, and the rest of the wounded, are heading south." Eaden snatched the stunned doctor's change of clothes from the hook by the door and tossed them to him, along with a towel. "You'd better get dressed. Somebody'll be coming in to dismantle the plumbing any second now."

Charles was still too shell-shocked to speak. He'd just put his patients to bed! He had no intention what so ever of _moving_ them!

Eaden sensed his silent colleague's opinion of the move and gave him a reassuring smile. "Relax! You don't have to go clear down to Seoul! Wau-Jam-Bou is just fifteen minutes away, as the EVAC flies."

Winchester's curiosity overcame his shock. "What, pray tell, is at Wau-Jam-Bou?"

Eaden's smile broadened into a grin. "Only **the** _highest_ efficiency rated M.A.S.H. Unit in all of Korea!"

Charles looked completely bewildered. "If the 4077th is in Wau-Jam-Bou, then what are Major Houlahan, and the rest of our nurses, doing _here_? Wherever here is…" He listened, intently, as the _situation_ was promptly explained to him.

"Looks like I won't be performing the corrective surgery on Captain Hunnicutt, after all," Eaden suddenly realized, as he finished his summation.

The dismantlers arrived.

"Da-amn!" Major Winchester exclaimed, for the umpteenth time that morning, and started getting dressed.

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"Are you trying to tell me," Colonel Potter hesitated, finding his next words too distasteful, too unthinkable, too horrifying to even be muttered aloud, "that you think they've been _tortured_?"

Margaret just continued to stare, blankly, down at her folded hands. She was too sick to her stomach to be stunned by the idea anymore. Yes, the thought no longer shocked her; it just made her physically ill. She sighed and forced herself to come up with some sort of a reply. "I am merely reporting what I observed, Colonel. I leave it to you to draw your own conclusions, as to what happened."

Potter momentarily forgot the fate of the three missing doctors. He gave the cool, impersonal-sounding nurse a sympathetic look.

How was it that Radar had put it? Major Houlahan's method of coping with the horrors was to give everyone the impression that they didn't really bother her…or, something to that effect. The woman's visible lack of concern was just an act…an attempt to cope with some rather uncope-with-able horrors.

Speaking of which…

The Colonel's thoughts returned to the no longer missing doctors…and Houlahan's unsavory account of their current physical condition. What about their mental state? Had _they_ been able to successfully cope with the horrors?

Klinger poked his head into the room just then. "Sorry to interrupt, sir. But the 8063rd has been ordered to bug-out. They're heading north—minus the wounded. Major Eaden says: 'Ready or not, here they come', sir."

So, the three doctors were on their way there and he'd have a chance to judge for himself, as to how well they'd been able to cope with the situation. Then again, maybe he shouldn't be the one to judge. "Thank you, Klinger. Now, I want you to see what you can do about getting Sidney Freedman here—PDQ!"

The Sergeant gave his C.O. a strange stare. 'Why would the Colonel have urgent need of a shrink?' he wondered, but refrained from asking. "Right away, sir!" he promised and ducked back out the door.

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Colonel Potter personally greeted the EVAC bringing in his errant surgical staff.

Margaret's report was neither exaggerated nor remiss in its detail, and he was taken aback by the three men's present appearances.

Charles, while bathed and clean-shaven and sporting fresh fatigues, still looked positively _dead on his feet_.

Hawkeye, also bathed and shaven, looked _dead to the world_.

And, B.J.? Well…B.J. just plain looked _dead_! Why, the poor man's body had even been wrapped up like an _Egyptian mummy's_!

Potter shouted out a sincere greeting to the preoccupied doctor supervising the stretcher unloading. "Welcome home, Winchester! You sure are a sight for sore eyes!"

"Thank you, Colonel!" Charles shouted back and stooped to examine Hunnicutt's vital signs. "You may rest assured that the feeling is mutual!" He finished his exam and motioned for the orderlies to continue with the transference of his patients from the EVAC chopper to the back of a waiting ambulance. "Gently! Gently!" he earnestly requested.

"How is he?" Potter anxiously inquired. "Did he make the trip okay?"

"Captain Hunnicutt continues to 'hang in there'!" Winchester curtly replied. "His ability to survive the Army's latest attempt to 'do him in' is a tribute to the tenacity of the human spirit and _his_ will to live!"

The Colonel watched, silently, as the sarcastic surgeon climbed up into the back of the ambulance with his patients' stretchers. The doors were closed, blocking the bitter man—and his wayward wards—from view.

"Easy does it!" Charles urged, as the driver released the brake and the vehicle began coasting easily down the steep trail to the compound.

Potter stared sadly after it. "God, help them…" he fervently whispered, "some more," he solemnly added.

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"You can't bring them in here!" Margaret told Charles. She stood in front of the doors to Post-Op, blocking his entrance. "Lieutenant Ames is inside and I don't want him to see them! He feels bad enough, as it is!"

Winchester stared at her like she'd lost her mind. "Speaking of feeling 'ba-ad', Hunnicutt can barely draw a breath! Now, out of my way woman! You are keeping him from his oxygen!"

Houlahan gasped in frustration as Captain Hunnicutt's doctor gently, but firmly, nudged her out of his way and the way of his patients' stretchers. She let out another gasp and followed them inside. "Kelly, give me a hand here!" she ordered and stomped up to Lt. Ames' cot.

Nurse Kelly obediently stepped up beside her. She stared down at the peacefully sleeping soldier. "What would you like me to do, Major?"

"Help me get him ready to move. We're taking him next-door."

"But, Major…the new Post-Ops aren't set up yet. There's no one over ther—"

"—I don't care! I'll watch him myself! Now, give me a hand! Watch that drainage tube!" she added and snatched the Lieutenant's IV bottle from the stand beside his bed. "You two!" she called to the orderlies who had just lifted Hawkeye's sedated body from their stretcher. "Over here with that thing!"

The two men finished putting Captain Pierce to bed and turned to Major Winchester for his reaction to the nurse's order.

Charles was too preoccupied with his patients to notice them. "Keep applying the ice packs. Keep his knees slightly flexed and his oxygen and IVs wide open," he advised and handed Lieutenant Davis Captain Hunnicutt's medical chart. "You will find the brunt of my instructions in here. You are to notify me if there is the _slightest_ change in his condition. Understood?"

"Yes, doctor!" Davis solemnly acknowledged and quickly went to work.

Winchester gave his patients one last sad visual examination. Then, satisfied, as to their physical comfort and well being, he turned to head off in search of his own. He froze, seeing the peacefully sleeping Lieutenant Ames' was about to be lifted from his hospital bed. "Hold it!" he ordered and stepped up beside Major Houlahan. "Why is this man being moved?" It seemed the strength of his sutures was constantly being put to the test.

"I believe I explained the situation outside, Doctor," Margaret coolly reminded him and motioned for the orderlies to continue.

Major Winchester motioned for them to 'hold it!' again. "You do not have to physically remove him from the room. If you do not want _this_ man to see _that_ man, simply place a partition between their beds."

"That isn't good enough! I do not want him in here with...them!"

"And, just where do you intend to move him _to_?" Charles sarcastically inquired. "Your tent?"

"Into one of the new Post-Ops!" she smartly replied.

"I can only assume that you are referring to those roofless plywood palaces that are being so delicately assembled next-door," he reasoned, sarcastically and winced at the annoying hammering racket coming through the thin walls of their old Post-Op.

Margaret nodded.

He stared at her like she'd lost her mind again. "That is preposterous!" he declared and motioned for the orderlies to forget the whole thing and make their stretcher and themselves scarce.

"Stay right where you are!" Houlahan advised the two completely confused men and they reluctantly ground to a halt. She glared at Charles. "If you would only take into consideration this patient's _mental_ well-being, I'm sure you would see the _need_ for the move!"

The surgeon considered the nurse's viewpoint over. "Very well," he conceded. "You may move him—after the new Post-Ops have been satisfactorily set up and staffed." He saw the woman's exasperated, outraged expression. "If you would only take into consideration this patient's _physical_ well-being, I am sure you would see the need for the _wait_."

The nurse couldn't argue with the doctor's logic because it was her own. She reluctantly replaced the Lieutenant's IV bottle. "Set a screen up here!" she ordered and got the patient completely resettled before quickly leaving, herself.

Charles noted that the nurse had departed without giving either Pierce or Hunnicutt so much a glance. He suddenly suspected that there were ulterior motives for keeping his patient's out of Post Op. "Margaret? Margaret, wait up!" Winchester requested and hurried to catch up to her.

She reluctantly did.

He caught up with her in the middle of the compound. His eyes caught something else. Some things, actually…some things of indescribable beauty! "Have you noticed these?" he asked the grouchy, impatient-looking nurse.

She forced herself to look down. The tulip bulbs they had planted last fall were in full bloom! The sight took her breath away.

Winchester stooped to admire the flaming red, yellow and orange blossoms. "A touch of the Dutch is added to the barren Korean landscape and one suddenly finds oneself in quaint and colorful Holland!" He smiled and glanced up. His smile broadened, as he noted the nurse's facial expression had changed to one of awe.

"I never dreamt they'd actually come up!" she confessed and dropped to her knees beside him to give the delicate beauties a closer inspection. "Oh! Look at this one!" she encouraged and gently bent one of the fragile stems so he could see the brilliant splash of color emanating from the blossom's center.

"Ahhh, indeed!" he declared, approvingly. "Even Solomon, in all his glory, was not arrayed as one of these…" he quoted quietly and gently placed his hand over hers.

There was a long silence, as they gradually turned their attention from the flowers to each other.

Winchester watched, as tears formed and began falling, silently from the woman's sad, tired eyes. He saw her trying to hold them back and gasped in frustration. "Let it out, woman! Kick! Scream! Pound! Cry! Curse! Whatever!" he urged and reassuringly squeezed her hand. "Your feelings are a poison, festering inside you. Let them out! I guarantee you will feel _much_ better."

Margaret stared blankly back at him. "All I feel is hate…and anger." She pursed her quivering lips. "If I let those feelings out, I'll be poisoning others. This way—"

"—You will suffer alone?" he bitterly finished for her.

She blinked fresh tears from her eyes and hung her head.

Charles reached out and gently pulled her chin up. "What about B.J.? If I can discern the poison's affect on you, he will be able to, as well. How do you think it is going to make _him_ feel…to see you this way?"

"I'll just avoid him," she reasoned. "There are plenty of other nurses in this camp."

"Margaret, do you not see? _If_ the man lives, he will not be needing _nurses_ so much he will be needing his _friends_. Your absence will be a clear indication of your feelings. And your feelings will affect his feelings. Plea-ease? Do not allow the hatred and anger to poison you…or him. The man has suffered enough…more than enough," he sadly and solemnly added.

There followed a long, thoughtful silence.

"Well," Margaret said, at last, "if I can't keep the feelings in…and I can't let them out…I guess I'm just gonna have to _stop_ feeling them…with the help of a few good, hard cries, of course," she tacked on with a sad smile.

Charles returned her smile and gave her trembling hand another reassuring squeeze. "We can all use some good, hard cries..."

"Are you two all right?" Colonel Potter anxiously inquired, as he came running up to the kneeling pair. He helped them both to their feet.

The two misty-eyed Majors exchanged knowing glances and some more sad smiles.

"Not quite," Margaret quietly commented. "But we're working on it."

Potter saw their smiles and was forced to smile, himself. Then, he suddenly turned stern. "Winchester, I was just about to go get some shut-eye. I expect you to do the same. And, when we've had enough of it, I wanna see you in my office…where we are gonna have a loooong, enlightening chat."

Charles gave his C.O. a pleading look. "Colonel, I do not suppose you could put a temporary halt to that infernal pounding? Just until I fall asleep, perhaps?"

The Colonel turned to the crew from Seoul. "Stop banging!" he ordered.

They did.

Potter looked pleased and turned back to Houlahan. "Margaret, see that the Major gets to bed. Then, let these guys know the moment his head hits his pillow so they can get back to work. We're expecting another wave of EVACs any second now."

"Yes, sir!" she assured her C.O. with a smile.

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"Heaven help the miserable wretch who has the great misfortune of waking me prior to my own voluntary decision to unoccupy this bed!" Winchester threatened, er—promised. He sat on the edge of his bunk, stripping.

"There are, of course, exceptions. For example, I shall spare the life of anyone coming to inform me that a life-threatening condition exists for either myself or my patients; or that this god-forsaken war has finally ended," he got down to his skivvies and yawned, "or that an immediate family member wishes to speak with me on the phone…"

"Goodnight, Charles," Margaret hinted and eased him down onto the bed.

"or that—" he stopped speaking the instant his head hit his pillow.

Margaret recalled the Colonel's words and was forced to smile. She tucked the soundly sleeping doctor in and then stood there, staring sadly down at him. "Welcome home, Charles," she whispered, softly. And then she left…to go have herself a good, hard, poison-cleansing cry…the first of many.

End of Chapter Fourteen


	16. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

Winchester woke the following morning to the cheerful chirping of birds—and no 'banging'.

He had always heard that lost sleep could never be caught up on and he figured it must have been true, or he'd have slept for _days_!

He dragged his still exhausted body out of bed and made his first destination Post Op.

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Captains Pierce and Hunnicutt had spent restful nights, he was told.

Alarmingly, B.J.'s temperature was still hovering above the 105 degrees mark.

The good news was that his serum calcium and blood lactate levels were normal, which meant his fever was not being caused by septicemia.

The bad news was that his BUN and serum creatinine levels were extremely elevated. His Inulin clearance was down to a mere 110 milliliters per minute. The patient had no urine output and his Foley was not plugged, which meant that his one remaining kidney was not up to handling the affects of high fever, massive infection and large doses of antibiotics. The overwhelmed organ had shut down. Captain Hunnicutt was in acute renal failure!

Charles scribbled down a prescription for a diuretic and then handed B.J.'s chart back to Lieutenant Davis, along with an order for Pierce to be kept sedated for another twenty-four hours, at the very least. He gave his patients one last worried glance and then headed for his second destination—Colonel Potter's office.

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Before he could even put in a request for one, his C.O. informed him that a kidney dialysis machine was already on its way.

Potter had read B.J.'s lab reports, too.

Speaking of Colonel Potter… He and Charles had their little chat. Only it wasn't quite as lo-ong as the Colonel had intended it to be.

Winchester was very vague in his recollection of their exploits.

They were captured by the North Koreans. B.J. stepped in front of a bus. And they escaped by floating down the Han River on a 'hutboat'.

Charles then excused himself, saying he needed to utilize the Officer's Latrine.

After the Major left his office, Potter called Klinger in to check on the progress he was making toward getting Sidney Freedman to the 4077th.

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Winchester's fourth and final destination, prior to dragging himself back to his bunk, was the Mess Tent, where he enjoyed a delicious cup of camp coffee, a hearty helping of scrambled powdered eggs and a slice of stale, buttered bread, which he pretended was merely toasted. After what they'd just been through, the Mess—their Mess—had the sudden appeal of one of Boston's finest delis.

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Major Freedman arrived that evening and Colonel Potter quickly filled him in.

Sidney visited the Swamp and chatted with Charles, over dinner and wine.

When Doctor Freedman asked Doctor Winchester if he **really** _believed_ that B.J. stepped in front of a bus, Charles was forced to chuckle.

He then apologized to the astounded psychiatrist, suppressed a few last chortles, and explained that the idea of stepping in front of a bus was Captain Hunnicutt's—and _not_ his.

Sidney then wondered _why_ he had given the idea to the Colonel.

At which point, Charles became extremely sober and solemn, and replied that it was at Captain Hunnicutt's request, and that—if B.J. had asked him to tell those who inquired that a saucer from outer space had landed on him—he would do so, _gladly_!

B.J. had saved their lives! B.J. was the reason he was sitting there now, sipping champagne with him…and not occupying a fetid little cell in some Chinese prison.

Charles then grew even graver and solemner and quietly confessed that _he_ might not have had the courage it took…to step in front of that bus.

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Hawkeye came out of his sedation just before noon, the next day. The first face that came into focus was that of his concerned doctor, Charles. The second was that of his bunkmate, B.J.. "Beej?" he called out, weakly, and struggled to sit up. But Winchester, and the three big, invisible guys that were sitting on his chest, kept him from rising. He was much too weak and dizzy to fight. He gave up and turned back to B.J.. "How's he doing?" 

Charles replied by handing his colleague their patient's medical chart.

Pierce studied the thing for a few moments and then stiffened. "We gotta get 'im ta Seoul! Why haven't you shipped 'im ta Seoul?" he demanded and made another attempt at rising.

Winchester helped his dizzy and very indignant colleague up into a sitting position. "There is no need for him to be 'shipped' to Seoul—"

"—Seoul's got the only dialysis machine in all of Korea!" Hawkeye reminded him, and then stiffened again. "You're not thinking of shipping him to _Tokyo_?" he hopefully inquired. "The trip would kill him!"

"I am not 'shipping' him anywhere," Charles patiently replied. "He is staying right here, in Wau-Jam-Bou."

Captain Pierce looked completely lost. "Wau-Jam-Bou? How did we get _here_?"

"In an EVAC chopper," the Major told him, smartly.

Hawkeye ignored the smart remark and looked more indignant than ever. "As long as you risked moving him again, why did you bring him _here_? Why didn't you ship him down to Seoul, when you had the chance?"

"Ah! Pierce! It's good to see you _vertical_, again!" Colonel Potter declared and saved Winchester from having to answer. "Fact is, it's just plain **good** to see you _again_, period!" he added with a grin and then turned to the Major. "Your kidney contraption just pulled into the compound."

Winchester's eyes lit up and he headed for the exit, at a run.

"I sure hope you know how to hook it up!" the Colonel called after him. Then he turned back to Hawkeye and quietly confessed, "I've only seen it done once."

Pierce appeared more bewildered than ever.

"Hi, Hawkeye!" Sergeant Klinger greeted the conscious Captain and then turned to his C.O.. "Major Winchester wants to set it up in Pre-Op, Colonel. He says that there's more room in there. He thought that it would be okay, since we're not using it anymore, anyway…" his words trailed off, as he caught Pierce's look of utter astonishment.

Potter caught the look, too and was forced to smile. "That'll be fine."

The Sergeant turned to lend the nurses and corpsmen a hand with Captain Hunnicutt.

"I'll take care of this," his Colonel suddenly announced. He nudged his clerk out of the way and grabbed a handle on B.J.'s stretcher. "You stay here and take care of _him_," he added, and motioned to Pierce, with his head.

"Yes, sir." Klinger watched the Colonel, the nurses and the corpsmen cart Captain Hunnicutt off on a stretcher. Then he turned to the remaining Captain and grinned. "Good news, sir! It's finally stopped raining! And, even better news! We got a new cook this morning! Corporal Walton is nothing short of a miracle worker! I honestly can't remember the last time I looked forward to eating a meal around here. But, I've been looking forward to lunch, ever since breakfast! And, not only is the chow better, the kid's also worked wonders with the coff—"

"—Hold it, Klinger! I don't know how long I've been lying here. But, I appear to be suffering from a severe case of Rip Van Winkleitis. I need someone to catch me up with the rest of the world again. For instance, since when does the Army supply MASH units with kidney dialysis machines?"

"Colonel Potter requisitioned one yesterday…said, since we're no longer a _mobile_ hospital, we shouldn't be without one. They just flew it in from Tokyo, this morning. We had to drive down to Kimpo and pick it up…" his words trailed off as he realized he'd just lost his audience again. "I think I'd better start at the beginning…from the night you guys disappeared. You should prob'ly lie back down, sir," he suggested and eased the confused Captain back down on his cot. "This could take some time…"

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It took Sergeant Klinger a good ten minutes to bring the 'out of it' officer back into the stream of things.

When Captain Pierce asked how far South the Chinese had advanced and wondered how heavy the casualties had been, Klinger had the great pleasure of telling him the glorious good news. The look of elation on Hawkeye's face was a sight Max was certain he would never forget. And he was grateful to his C.O. for allowing him the opportunity to see it.

Hawkeye couldn't help but wonder if his imaginary information had had anything to do with the withdrawal of Chinese forces. Anyway, it made him feel good inside to think that it had, and that _he_ had somehow, made a difference. Heck! It made him feel _great_!

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Hawkeye spent the afternoon in Pre-Op, at his best friend's bedside. He dined with the rest of his friends, that evening, in the Mess Tent. Klinger was right about Corporal Walton.

Following a delectable meal, and an enlightening after-dinner conversation with Sidney Freedman, Hawkeye headed over to the Swamp.

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Hawkeye stepped past the signpost and stood, for a full three minutes, in the open doorway to their tent, staring around the very familiar space. There was his Stetson…and their still. There was the chessboard between his and B.J.'s bunks. He smiled, seeing that his Bishop was still in the same precarious position it had been in, when he'd made his last move. It seemed like an eternity ago.

Someone had gone to great lengths to see to it that the Swamp would be ready for its residents' return. He grinned again and went off to find that someone and thank them.

Upon Captain Pierce's return, he promptly put his and B.J.'s still on to brew.

B.J. might request an _exact_ drink, when he finally came around, and he'd better have one ready!

Hawkeye hoped the gin wouldn't get to age for very long, before B.J. got to taste it…

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There seemed to be no end to the phone calls inquiring as to the three recently returned doctors' exploits and current conditions.

Potter flatly refused all requests for interviews. He even turned down 'Stars and Stripes'! His doctors were not to be bothered right then, he told all interview requesters. The Colonel asked the reporters to give him their addresses. If his doctors had anything they wanted to say, they would drop the news people a line and they could publish their letters!

Colonel Potter even put his official 'kibosh' on the Army's own official inquiry into the three officers' disappearance and return.

"Let's see how 'they' like being kept in the dark!" Sherman had declared with a vengeful gleam in his steely-blue eyes.

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Speaking of Colonel Potter… The camp's C.O. spent what little free time he had alternately riding his horse, and working on Captain Pierce's portrait.

The Colonel had originally intended to capture the Captain's lighter side.

But now, the only time he could catch Pierce sitting still, long enough to pose for him, was when he was keeping his vigil at B.J.'s bedside. And, _there_, Hawkeye's mood was anything **but** _light_.

So, Potter was forced to capture the surgeon's more serious side.

And, capture it, he did, as he skillfully transferred the look of deep concern from Hawkeye's face, to the face of the white-smocked man in his painting.

Those privileged enough to view the nearly completed portrait, remarked that they found it to be a very touching and accurate likeness.

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By the end of their third day back at Wau-Jam-Bou, the camp had already settled into its new routine.

They were up to a total of 48 patients, now. An incredible sum, considering that they were used to dealing with large numbers of wounded in small increments.

The 4077th was the highest efficiency rated field hospital in all of Korea, however. And so, it came as no surprise to Colonel Potter that his troops were able to rise to the occasion.

In fact, it seemed as though everyone was now united behind the goal of turning the 4077th into the highest efficiency rated non-mobile army surgical hospital.

Potter was justifiably proud of his crew. They were a proud lot! 'If not a rather odd one, to boot!' he fondly admitted.

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Since Hawkeye wouldn't leave B.J.'s side, Sherman met up with him and Max, and Charles and Sidney in Pre-Op, after rounds that evening, for another round of _rounds_: one of the 'still' variety and one of the 'poker'.

Klinger was just about to deal another hand, when the CIA's Colonel Flagg suddenly appeared in the room, and snatched the deck of cards from him.

The card players were unable to hide their extreme disappointment.

Potter muttered a few choice expletives and decided to ignore him.

Everyone decided to ignore him.

But, Flagg did not go away. "Pierce, Winchester, I want to see you two alone…outside…Now!" he ordered.

The two doctors glanced at each other and continued to ignore him.

"All right then, we'll talk here."

The card players gasped in exasperation. But nobody said a word.

Flagg glanced over his shoulder, at B.J.. "It's obvious that Hunnicutt didn't talk." He turned back to the unconscious Captain's colleagues. "It's also obvious that you two are trying to cover up something. What is it? What did you two tell the gooks?"

The card players continued to ignore him but appeared to be having a harder time of it.

Flagg's impassive face filled with rage. "**I said, what did you two tell the gooks**!"

Captain Pierce gave Colonel Potter a pleading look.

Flagg saw the look and tossed an official-looking document at Potter before he could even open his mouth. "You have no authority over me, Colonel!" he declared, sounding extremely smug and superior.

The Colonel gave the document a quick once over and his surgeons an apologetic shrug.

Hawkeye exhaled a resigned sigh. "Okay. Then let's get it over with."

The CIA guy appeared pleased. "What did you tell the gooks?"

"Gooks? What gooks? I didn't see any gooks. Did you, Charles?"

"I do not recall seeing any. No."

Flagg's pleased look vanished. "Someone worked that man over real good! Now, if it wasn't me, then it had to be the gooks!" He saw Winchester's mouth opening. "And, don't try to tell **me** he stepped in front of a bus!" he warned. "I wasn't born yesterday, Major!"

Hawkeye turned to Charles. "It's true. In fact, he wasn't _born_, at all. When the time came, his mother lifted a rock and he just _crawled_ right out from under it."

The card players gritted their teeth.

So did Flagg. "So…Maybe it wasn't the gooks. Maybe it was those red devils!"

Pierce stared up at their interrogator in amazement. Then he turned back to Winchester and whispered, "Flaggu was right. Those CIA boys are capable of perpetrating anything. They've obviously taught one of their gorillas to speak. And, here he is now…disguised as a person. Clever, huh?"

"Fiendishly!" the Major quietly concurred.

"What are you two mumbling about?" Flagg angrily demanded.

The two men remained silent.

Flagg gasped in exasperation and repeated his question. "**Who worked him over**?"

"Nobody," Pierce assured him.

"Then, how did he get those bruises?"

"He had an accident," Winchester chimed in.

"Yes. A very bad accident."

"What kind of an accident?"

"Uhhh…he fell!"

"Yes. He fell!"

"Repeatedly," Pierce added, anticipating Flagg's next question.

"That must've been some fall."

"Oh, it was. He fell down a _mountain_…"

"A very _high_ mountain."

"What was he doing on a mountain?"

The two tall taletellers turned to each other.

Suddenly, Hawkeye brightened. "Well, we were lost..."

"Yes. We were lost."

"So he climbed the mountain to see what he could see…"

"Yes. But all that he could see, was the other side of the mountain…"

"So, he decided he might as well climb back down…"

"Yes. And _that_ is when he fell!" Charles finished, with a flare.

Flagg gazed aloofly down at the two doctors and continued to play their little game with them. "Just where was this 'mountain' of yours?"

Pierce looked thoughtful. "If we'd a' known _that_, we wouldn't a' been _lost_, would we."

The card players smiled.

Flagg had everything he could do to keep from exploding. Gradually, he regained his composure and unloaded his ace in the hole. "There are no mountains in this part of Korea, gentlemen."

Hawkeye slapped his knee. "I knew it!" He flashed Charles a smug smile. "I told you that sign said: Denver 9 Miles!"

The card players were forced to grin.

Winchester appeared apologetic. "Surely you do not expect _me_ to know the difference between a North American Rocky Mountain goat and a Korean Mountain goat. I can barely distinguish a horse from a cow."

Their grins broadened.

Flagg's frown deepened. "Okay!" he shouted, in surrender. "Forget the mountain…for now." His angry eyes narrowed. "How did you get those rope burns on your wrists?"

The two doctors glanced at one another again.

"Oh, these are _not_ rope burns," Charles assured their questioner.

Flagg's face took on a rather pained expression. "They're not?"

"No. No. No," Hawkeye quickly joined in. "You see, when B.J. fell, he landed in this deep crevice…in some rocks…"

"Yes. And we were forced to join wrists so that we could lower one another down into the crevice to rescue him…"

"That's right! And we gripped each other's wrists so hard that it must've left these little marks, here."

Flagg just stood there, looking like he was counting to ten. Finally, his smugness returned. "You two can be difficult. I can be difficult."

Hawkeye thought that remark over for a few moments. "We can get lost. You can get lost."

The card players were forced to chuckle.

"Don't be cute!" Flagg warned, with a menacing glare.

"I assure you, Colonel," Charles spoke up, "The Captain is not trying to be _cute_. That was meant with all _sincerity_."

"You two just will not cooperate, will you!"

Winchester grinned and turned to Pierce. "And I was beginning to thing he would _never_ notice."

Hawkeye passed the grin along to the grumpy spy guy. "That's right, Colonel. But we have been _sincere_. And one out of two ain't bad."

"Now, look, you two—!"

"—No, you look, Flagg!" Colonel Potter angrily interrupted. Flagg wasn't the only Colonel capable of losing his temper. "I may not have any authority over you militarily-wise! But I'm tough and I'm wiry! And, if you aren't out of my sight in ten seconds, I'm gonna drag you outside and whoop you up one side, and down the other! Ten…Nine…"

"Colonel Potter, if you think you can—"

"—Six…Five…" Potter calmly continued.

Flagg stared uncertainly into the steely-blue eyes of his adversary.

"—Three…Two…"

"Very well, Colonel." Flagg tossed the deck of cards down on the table in front of Klinger and started heading for the door to the compound. "But, you haven't seen the last of me!" He flicked the lights off and disappeared in the gloom that suddenly filled the room.

Winchester stood and stepped over to the exit, as well. "Not as long as they keep illustrating comic books, we haven't," he wearily surmised and flicked the lights back on.

The two relieved surgeons turned to their C.O. and gave him warm, grateful smiles.

"Would you a' really _whooped_ him, Colonel?" Hawkeye wondered.

"With one hand tied behind my back!" Sherman assured him, sounding very mean.

Sidney had been just sitting there, thoughtfully sipping his drink. He stared after their recently departed, uninvited guest for a few moments and then, finally, spoke. "It doesn't take a psychiatrist to see that that man's engine is only firing on one cylinder."

"Which Colonel are you referring to, Sidney?" Hawkeye teased.

Doctor Freedman's thoughtful expression suddenly turned to one of annoyance. "Did we come here to talk…or to play cards?"

Potter gave the evasive shrink an annoyed look of his own.

The card players grinned.

Klinger finished dealing the new hand and promptly ordered, "Ante up!"

They did.

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One other uninvited guest showed up in camp that evening—a war correspondent of the feminine gender. Miss Aggie O'Shea flew in all the way from Tokyo. Only to be told, in no uncertain terms, that both Pre-Op and Captain Hunnicutt, were OFF LIMITS to her…and her sketchpad.

Fearing Flagg might make good on his threat to return, Colonel Potter had placed guards on the doors to Pre-Op. He assigned an MP to serve as Miss O'Shea's _escort_.

The little lady was escorted from her jeep to the Colonel's office…from his office to the Swamp…from the Swamp to the VIP tent, etc., etc..

Aggie and B.J. had met the previous fall and the woman was very disappointed that Potter wouldn't allow them to get reacquainted. She informed the Colonel that she intended to stay in camp until Captain Hunnicutt was placed _within limits_ again.

Potter informed the little lady that that was a _lousy_ idea…and told her not to hold her breath!

End of Chapter Fifteen


	17. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

Dawn of the 4077th's fourth day back at Wau-Jam-Bou broke beautiful and bright.

Captain Hunnicutt's fever, however, broke miserable and wet. He lay there, quietly, on his cot in Pre-Op, literally swimming in his own sweat.

Until Lieutenant Davis attempted to wipe the perspiration from his cool brow.

At which time, his eyes snapped open and he let out a cry of sheer terror. "Ahh-ahhh!"

Davis overcame her own startlement and tried, desperately, to hold her now terrified, and tossing and turning patient down on his soggy bed. "Corpsman!"

At the sound of her voice, B.J. stopped struggling. "Davis?" he whispered, softly.

"I'm right here, B.J.."

He gave the incredibly concerned-looking nurse a weak smile…and then slipped back into unconsciousness.

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Captain Hunnicutt came around again, later that same morning, when Nurse Kelly attempted to take his corotid pulse.

His scream of terror caused her to scream and it took a full thirty seconds for the both of them to stop trembling.

"Sorry, Kelly…" he whispered, apologetically. This time, he managed to squeeze a couple of questions in, before passing out again. "Hawkeye and Charles…are they alright?"

"They're both fine, B.J.."

He looked tremendously relieved…and then curious. "Where…am I?"

"You're home!" Kelly declared, with a grin. "You've been back in Wau-Jam-Bou for four days now."

"Four da—!" He didn't get to finish his exclamation.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hawkeye and Charles took to lingering in Pre-Op in the hope they would be present when their colleague next awakened.

But, B.J. didn't stir again, all that day.

Not even when Lieutenant Norris courageously gave the un-bandaged surfaces of his bruised body a spongebath.

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Day five dawned bright and beautiful, as well.

And B.J. awoke unterrified and well rested.

The doctor gradually blinked his surroundings into focus. There was something very familiar about them. 'Pre-Op,' he finally realized, but couldn't begin to imagine _what_ he was doing _there_. His head was still filled with cobwebs and the rest of him hurt too much to move. So he just lay there, listening to a strange mechanical whirring and clicking sound.

B.J. was about to turn his head in the direction of the sound, when the Pre-Op doors suddenly flew open. His head turned in their direction, instead.

The first persons he saw that morning, were the last persons he'd seen five mornings ago—his friends, Hawkeye and Charles.

Lieutenant Davis had been monitoring her patient's blood pressure and when she noticed it rise, she figured he was going to, too. So she went to fetch his sleeping friends. She knew they would want to be there, when B.J. woke up.

"Hawk…Charles," Hunnicutt greeted the guys in a hoarse whisper. He even attempted a grin. He ended up grimacing, instead, as he became painfully aware that his bruised jaw was still _incredibly_ sore.

The _guys_ promptly returned his greeting…and his grimace. It hurt them to see him hurting and both doctors took immediate measures to alleviate their patient's discomfort.

Doctor Pierce prescribed a painkiller.

While, Doctor Winchester ordered a sedative.

They agreed upon the sedative.

B.J. was silent for a long while. There was so much he wanted to say…and so little energy to say it with. So he smiled and condensed it all into just three short words, "We made it."

Hawkeye and Charles exchanged solemn glances. What more was there to say?

There was a lot more to say! But it would have to wait.

Doctor Winchester removed the hypodermic syringe from the tray in Lieutenant Davis' hands and injected its contents into their patient's IV port.

B.J.'s eyes closed and his bruised body went limp.

"_Keep_ him _sedated_," Charles ordered.

"Yes, Major!" Lieutenant Davis acknowledged.

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Miss O'Shea had failed, miserably, in her attempts to worm a story out of Captain Pierce and Major Winchester—or anybody else in the camp, for that matter.

Aggie, and her MP escort, greeted Hawkeye, as he stepped out of Pre-Op. "How is he?" she anxiously inquired.

Captain Pierce appeared tremendously disappointed to find her still standing there and he debated whether or not to even comment. "He's resting comfortably," he finally confided.

"My editor called. He wants me to return to Tokyo, immediately, with or without my exclusive interview."

Hawkeye was most happy to hear that.

"Just let me see him _once_ before I leave?"she pleaded.

Pierce's pleased look vanished and his disappointment returned.

The little lady looked even more desperate. "_Please_, Hawkeye? I'm really concerned about him! Not as a _journalist_…just as a _friend_."

The doctor looked skeptical but gavethe womanthe benefit of the doubt. "Okay then…speaking as one concerned friend to another. If you really wanna _be_ his friend, you'll forget all about this and go back to Tokyo."

Miss O'Shea didn't care for his suggestion and her mouth opened to tell him so.

"_Please_, Aggie? For _his_ sake? You see, he's asking _all_ of his friends to _forget_."

The woman thought Captain Pierce's suggestion over again, and this time reluctantly went along with it. "Okay…I'll _go_."

Hawkeye gave her a look of undying gratitude. "Leave a number where you can be reached. And, ifyou promise not to print it...I'll keep you posted on his condition."

Aggie was astounded bythe good doctor'soffer.

"His friends have a right to know," he explained and flashed her a warm smile.

"Dea-eal!" she declared with a handshake and returned the gentleman's grin.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three sunny, sedated days later, in Potter's office…

"Corporal Zale is on his way, sir. He said he figured it should take him around four hours." Klinger gazed down at the documents on his Colonel's desk. "Shall I tell Hawkeye you wanna see 'im?" he inquired, with a grin.

Potter stared down at the official-looking forms for a while before finally commenting. "That won't be necessary, Sergeant. But I would like ta see Winchester—ASAP!"

The clerk watched, in confusion, as his C.O. pushed the important papers back into the top drawer of his desk. "But, Colonel, don't you think you'd better tell him?"

The Colonel shoved the drawer shut and then stared solemnly off in the direction of the Pre-Op Ward. "I already promised the job...to somebody else."

Klinger followed his Commander's gaze and then nodded, thoughtfully. "Understood, sir. I'll go get the Major."

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B.J. gradually became aware of that strange, mechanical whirring and clicking sound again. He found the noise, combined with the alarming level of discomfort he was experiencing, most annoying. He forced his eyes open, blinked them into focus and then turned his head, to investigate what was causing the infernal racket. There, beside his bed, was a complicated looking mechanical contraption with red tubes sticking out of it. No. No-o, the tubing was _clear_. It was blood that was making it appear red—his blood!

The doctor followed the path of his blood as it left the radial artery in his right wrist…traveled along a tube…and into a centrifuge device, where crystalloids were separated from colloids in a special running solution. From there, it passed through more tubing until it reached the semipermeable membrane imbedded in the lid of a special holding jar. As his blood filtered through this lid, diffusion cleansed it of impurities. He followed his cleansed blood as it made its return trip through more clear tubing. The whole thing was a deceptively simple process known in physics as chemical dialysis—a process which occurred continuously in a person's own filtering system, the kidneys. Unless, of course, they were no longer working…

Speaking of B.J.'s blood… It suddenly ran cold, as he realized that a _machine_ was keeping him alive! He stiffened and, as his already painfully stiff, abused muscles tensed, he groaned, in agony.

Lieutenant Davis heard the groan and looked up from the book she'd been reading. "How long have you been awake?"

Captain Hunnicutt's reply to her inquiry was a quick question of his own. "Am I…_dying_?"

The nurse was somewhat stunned by his comment and it took her a few moments to recover. "Of course not! In fact, your condition keeps improving everyday." Davis could tell that the Captain remained unconvinced. So, she decided on a different approach. "Here, see for yourself…" she suggested and held the doctor's own medical chart up for him to examine.

Examine it, he did. And what he 'saw for himself' caused him to stiffen again. He let out another involuntary groan and then gazed up at the Lieutenant in shock. "_Eight da-ays_? I've been lying here for _over a week_?"

"Shhhh-shhhh!" Davis ordered. "You're not even supposed to be talking, let alone shouting."

B.J. stared, silently, back up at his chart for a very long time. The fever and infection had knocked out his kidneys…and the dialysis had bought him enough time for the antibiotics to knock out the fever and infection. His latest labs did look promising. Maybe he wasn't dying, after all. His next question was voiced in a barely audible whisper. "Has my wife called?"

"She's called twice, that I know of. Both times, the Colonel told her that you were in Pre-Op and couldn't come to the phone, just then. Which was the truth…sort a'."

The doors opened and Majors Winchester and Houlahan entered the ward, along with Colonel Potter, Klinger and Captain Pierce.

Charles seemed pleased to find their patient so unsedated. "Ah! You are awake. That is good. Because the Colonel informs me that you have a very _brief_ announcement that you simply _must_ make."

They all turned to their C.O., looking quite curious.

Including the intended announcer. "I do-o?"

Potter motioned his head in Pierce's direction. Then he winked at Hunnicutt and peered down at the paper that was protruding from his front shirt pocket.

B.J.'s eyes suddenly lit up. "I do-o!" He turned his undivided attention to the document's owner. "Captain Benjamin Franklin 'Hawkeye' Pierce…I have been given the inestimable honor…of being the first to congratulate you…on your recent **de**motion…to the most sought after **non-**rank…in all of Korea…that of _civilian_—first class!" He gazed blurrily up at his bewildered buddy. "Congratulations, Hawk!" he wished, sincerely and made a valiant attempt to offer his ultra-stunned associate his right hand.

Hawkeye saw B.J.'s effort, numbly reached out and gripped his grinning friend's hand. '_Civilian_ first cla-ass?' He had been dreaming of this moment every moment of every day for the past two and a half years! What it would be like. How he would react. The only thing he'd _never dreamt _was that this moment would ever _really come_. He heard the rest of the people around him giving him their congratulations, as well and realized the moment must have _really—finally—come_, because none of his warm, loving friends would ever play such a cruel, heartless hoax on him. He stood there, experiencing the condition referred to in the phrase: you could have knocked him over with a feather. His throat tightened. His eyes watered. His wildest dream came true!

B.J. gave Hawkeye's hand one final feeble squeeze before releasing it, so that the civilian could receive his other congratulatory handshakes.

Charles extended his hand and his congratulations. Then he turned to their long-winded patient and administered his delayed sedative.

Hawkeye got a tender kiss and a warm embrace from a misty-eyed Margaret. She, perhaps more than anyone else in the room, knew what this moment meant to him. The two of them had been through it all—right from the god-awful beginning.

A tidal wave of memories, both painful and fond, suddenly flooded his brain and he forced himself to say something just to keep from being swamped by them. "Thanks! I…I just can't believe it's _really true_! I don't know what to say. This can't really be happening, can it? Somebody pinch me—ou-ouch! Not _that_ hard!" he chastised the obliging, grinning nurse, at his side.

"Here, son…" Potter passed him his discharge papers, "maybe taking a gander at these'll help."

Hawkeye gave his loveable C.O. an affectionate 'gander' before gazing down at the official-looking forms in his hands. He grinned and turned back to B.J.. "You gotta hurry up and get well, Beej. Cuz these call for the celebration to end all celebrations! And I want _you_ to be a part of it, yah hear?"

B.J. was busy, battling the drowsy affect of his sedative. "Yeah, Hawk," he groggily agreed. He forced his heavy eyelids open and cracked a smile. "We can make it a costume party…and you can wear your dress uniform…and pretend you are…an officer in the Army," he lightly suggested.

"Na-ah," Hawkeye quickly came back. "I've been doing _that_ for the past two and a half years!"

His grinning friends were forced to chuckle.

"It's time for a _change_!" Hawkeye exuberantly declared. Gawd, but it felt great to be a civilian again!

"It is also time for us to leave," Winchester determined, seeing that their patient was still fighting his sedative.

B.J. groaned again. Only this time, it was in mental anguish.

"He's right, Beej," Hawkeye told him. "You need to rest. Don't worry. Everything's gonna be alright."

And B.J. had no reason to doubt his doctor/friend. So he smiled and fell asleep…to that annoying mechanical whirring and clicking sound.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A jeep pulled into the compound, just as Pierce and the others were exiting Pre-Op. An Army Captain climbed stiffly out of its passenger seat.

"Company at 12 o'clock," Klinger announced.

Zale climbed out of its driver's seat. The Corporal wrestled the officer's duffel bag from its back seat and then began removing the rest of the Captain's luggage.

"Wonder who that could be?" Hawkeye muttered, not expecting an answer.

"That could be _your replacement_," Potter told him. "Captain Raymond W. McHennick, M.D."

Hawkeye looked stunned…then pleasantly surprised…then overjoyed…and, finally, thoughtful. No wonder the Colonel had pressed Charles so hard to let B.J. make his little announcement! "Cutting it a little close, were'nt we, Colonel?"

"Couldn't be helped," his C.O. stated, defensively. "Besides, I despise long good-byes."

At the sound of the word 'good-byes', a gloom descended upon their little group.

Margaret held her chin up and turned to Hawkeye. "There must be some mistake," she declared, in an attempt to change the subject, and hence, the somber mood. "That can't possibly be _your_ replacement."

"Why can't it?" he wondered, playing along.

"Because **you** are _irreplaceable_!" she explained, rather matter-of-factly.

Her plan backfired. The truthfulness of her statement caused an even thicker gloom to settle upon them.

"You mean _irresistible_!" Hawkeye teased, in a valiant attempt to cheer his chums back up.

"You mean _irresponsible_!" Charles quickly corrected, with a grin.

'You mean _all of the above_!' Potter silently, and most amusedly, mused. Then he drew a deep breath and started heading for his office. "Come on, children. Let's go meet the new kid in school…"

End of Chapter Sixteen


	18. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Hold it, Lieutenant!" Colonel Potter ordered, as he came stepping into Pre-Op, bright and early the following a.m..

Nurse Davis was in the process of sedating her patient. She held off and set the hypodermic syringe in her hand back down on a tray.

"Go get yourself a cup of coffee," Potter gently urged and elbowed the nurse out of his way.

Davis smiled. Her C.O. had a way of making direct orders sound like polite suggestions. "Yes, sir," she said and quickly and quietly took her leave.

The Colonel stared down at Captain Hunnicutt's perfectly still, striking 'mummified' form.

The tortured man's bruises had changed colors. For the first week, B.J. had been black and blue. Now, he was more of a lavender and green. And, in another week or so, he'd be a yellowish brown. The dramatic color changes were caused by the different rates at which his hemoglobin's bilirubin and biliverdin were being reabsorbed.

As a physician, Potter knew all about bruises and their colors. As a former POW, he knew all about torture and pain. Sherman had 'stepped in front of a bus' once, himself…back in WWI.

"B.J.?" the Colonel called out, softly. "B.J.!" he repeated, raising the volume of his voice. Failing to rouse the patient verbally, Potter reluctantly reached out, to give the poor man's good shoulder a slight shake.

"Ahhh-ahhh!" the Captain cried out, in sheer terror. B.J.'s eyes snapped open and his bruised body went rigid.

The Colonel winced, as the Captain cried out again, in agonizing pain. 'No wonder Winchester was so set on keeping him sedated.' "Take it easy, son…" he gently urged and gave the trembling man's shoulder a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

At the sound of his C.O.'s voice, the Captain relaxed…some. "Sorry, Colonel," he sadly said.

There followed a long, uncomfortable silence.

It was then that B.J. realized the whirring and clicking had stopped.

"I'm the one who's sorry," his Colonel quietly confessed. "With all the hoopla over Hawkeye's discharge yesterday, I'm afraid I failed to give you a proper greeting. Welcome home, son!"

"Thanks, Colonel."

"Oh, and speaking of home…Your wife is gonna be calling—" Potter paused to glance at his watch, "—in about five more minutes. If I have Klinger run a line in here, do you think you'd feel up to talking with her?"

B.J.'s bruised face filled with emotion and he immediately began to cry.

Potter's own eyes welled up. He patted the Captain's shaking shoulder a few times and forced a smile. "I'll take that as a _yes_."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Peg said the Army sent her two telegrams: one saying that I was _missing_ and one saying that I was _found_. Can you believe it?" B.J. irritatedly demanded.

Lieutenant Davis looked appropriately appalled and shook her head.

His colleagues came into the ward.

One of them was wearing a Stetson.

And one of them was carrying a loaded syringe.

"What is that for?" B.J. nervously inquired.

"This is to ensure that you will get some much needed rest," Charles explained and emptied the hypo's contents into his patient's IV port.

"What'd yah have to go and do that for?" B.J. angrily demanded. "I don't wanna rest! And, I don't wanna sleep! I've been sleeping for the past eight days, for cryin' out loud! I'm not tired!"

"I have scheduled your corrective surgery for this afternoon," the Major informed him. "It is essential that you conserve every ounce of—"

"—What corrective surgery?" Captain Hunnicutt demanded, when he finally recovered enough to speak. "You're the finest surgeon I've ever seen! You're incapable of making a mistake! So, what could there possibly be to correct?"

Doctor Winchester looked extremely flattered and rather at a loss for words. "Yes. Well…we all have a tendency to shine in a given area. Mine is the chest. Yours is emergency repairs to the solid organs. Lacking the proper tools and time, I fear I failed to perform satisfactorily in your area."

It was Doctor Hunnicutt's turn to look flattered and speechless.

"So that's what those letters stand for!" Pierce suddenly piped up.

His colleagues turned to him, looking completely confused.

"**M** utual **A** dmiration **S** ociety **H** eadquarters!" Hawkeye smugly explained. "Number 4077."

The _mutual admirers_ were forced to grin.

A wave of drowsiness washed the grin from B.J.'s face. "Charles, what's gonna fall apart on me, if you don't go back in this afternoon and fix it?"

Winchester saw their patient battling the affects of his sedative. "Your left kidney was irreparably damaged. I am sorry to say…I could not save it."

B.J. was stunned into silence, once again.

"I had no surgical thread and, lacking the proper ligatures, I was forced to place a temporary graft over the left renal artery."

B.J. stared sadly and silently down at his heavily bandaged chest for a few more moments. Then he glanced up and flashed his surgeon a grateful grin. "Like I said, Charles…you are incapable of making a mistake! A-and, thanks to you," he calmly and quietly added, "I just had a long talk with my wife." Another wave of drowsiness washed over him. He shook his head but couldn't clear it. His vision doubled and his eyelids became too heavy for him to hold them up. "If you had no surgical thread," he mumbled, groggily, "what did you use for sutures?"

"My shirt," he heard Hawkeye reply.

Then everything went blank.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was no accident that Doctor Sidney Freedman turned out to be the anesthetist for Captain Hunnicutt's corrective surgery.

It was also not by chance that he was the first member of the surgical team to show up in the O.R..

Colonel Potter had already been assured, by the shrink, that Pierce and Winchester were gonna be all right. Now, he wanted the same assurance about Hunnicutt. He was still worried about B.J..

"The warranty for the refrigerator was not in the bottom drawer. It was in the top drawer. Anyways, Mr. Glendale honored it and brought a new one over last week. Now I'm delighted because I no longer have to mop the water up off the kitchen floor every morning, and Erin is delighted because we can keep ice cream in the house again." Nurse Kelly stopped reading, as the psychiatrist finally succeeded in catching her attention. She saw him motioning for her to leave the room.

"Go on, Kelly…" Captain Hunnicutt groggily encouraged.

"Sorry, B.J. but I gotta go. I'll read some more when you wake up," the nurse promised. Then she gathered the letters she'd been reading and left.

Sidney stepped silently up to the slightly sedated man.

"Ahhh-ahhh!" B.J. cried out, startled—no, terrified by the sudden touch of someone's hand upon his right wrist.

Sidney studied the reaction, carefully. So, the reports were accurate. He cursed to himself and stood there, silently wishing that they weren't. "Sorry," he apologized to the still trembling Captain. And then, for conversation's sake he calmly inquired, "Are you nervous?"

B.J. stared up at the hand's owner in disbelief. "Are you kidding? I'm not used to being _horizontal_ in here!" He shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "It gives me the creeps…"

Doctor Freedman saw his patient staring blankly up at the ceiling, trying very hard to give him the impression of being very bored. "You know why I'm here, don't you."

"Of course. There can be only one reason. Hawkeye and Charles are going to call for an intermission and then, right in the middle of my operation, the three of you are going to hold a high stakes poker tournament!"

His anesthetist was forced to chuckle. "I can't tell you what a relief it is to see that you haven't lost your sense of humor, B.J.." He studied his patient carefully for a few moments.

The Captain's bruised body and drawn, haggard features reflected the abusive treatment he'd recently been forced to endure.

Sidney reluctantly continued his questioning. "_Seriously_, how are you feeling?"

"I can't answer that question_, seriously_, Sidney. Because I'm feeling like a badly-bruised, over-ripe banana."

The psychiatrist's face filled with amusement again. He stood there, snickering and shaking his head. "You know of course that you're not making this easy for me."

B.J. flashed his friend an innocent smile. "War is hell!"

Sidney gave his friend a deeply sympathetic look. "Indeed it is," he softly agreed. "And you're speaking from firsthand experience, aren't you. Because you've recently been there and back."

Captain Hunnicutt remained silent.

"B.J., you do _know_ why I'm here, don't you?"

"You're here because Potter gives a damn."

"That's right. And right now he and a lot of other people in this camp—present company included—are worried. We're worried that the _memory_ of that private hell you've just been through might turn out to be more than you can bare…alone."

"In my eagerness to _forget_, I'm afraid I've given people the impression that I possess an inability to _remember_."

Doctor Freedman looked hopeful. "Then, you _do remember_ what _really_ happened to you?"

B.J.'s eyes and face filled with an unbearable sadness. "Yes…unfortunately. It's not something I'm likely to _ever_ forget…" He turned his damp eyes in Sidney's direction. "But that doesn't mean I'm not gonna give it _one hell of a try_!"

Sidney was silent for a few moments. "I am immeasurably relieved to hear you say that, B.J.. And I wish you every success in the world!"

The two friends exchanged sad smiles.

Doctor Freedman reached back and tied his surgical mask in place. "I'm going to put you to sleep now. And when you wake up, you'll be sound in mind _and_ body."

"Hopefully!" the horizontal surgeon muttered under his breath. The last sound he heard was that of his friend, snickering. B.J. went under the anesthetic with a smile on his face.

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Captain Hunnicutt sure didn't come to that way, though. He woke up screaming and it took doctors Pierce, Winchester, Potter and Freedman to hold him still long enough for Nurse Houlahan to give his IV an injection of morphine.

It was impossible to tell whether the patient's scream was one of pain, or terror. But, whichever it was it ceased, as the potent painkiller started taking affect.

His handlers gradually released their holds on him, as he untensed.

B.J. lay there, breathing very hard and looking very disoriented. He aimed his dazed gaze up at Doctors Pierce and Winchester. "Thanks, fellahs," he sarcastically stated. "I now have…two zippers. And it feels like…the latest one…has a poker chip…stuck in it."

Without missing a beat, Hawkeye snapped his fingers and innocently declared, "So that's what happened to my ante!"

Everyone was forced to smile…including the patient.

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Lieutenant Ron Ames continued to make a rather remarkable recovery following Doctor Winchester's skillful surgical repairs to his badly damaged chest.

Of course, much of the speed of his recovery was owing to the expert nursing care, provided in an almost over abundance by Major Margaret Houlahan.

Speaking of whom… The Major and Lieutenant were becoming quite a _number_ around camp. Rumor had it that the two officers were becoming _inseparably good friends_.

Margaret was the first to admit that the rumors were based on fact. "After all, Ron is a terrific guy!" she casually explained. "He's got a great sense of humor and he's easy to talk to—or, not to talk to," she would add, more importantly, and get strange stares from her listeners. She didn't mind the stares. She had decided that she was not going to concern herself with the opinions of others, anymore. All that mattered now was how she and the Lieutenant seemed to understand each other so well. It was downright uncanny the way they seemed to be able to communicate their thoughts and feelings…without having to utter a word.

End of Chapter Seventeen


	19. Chapter 18

**Chapter Eighteen**

The day following B.J.'s surgery…

Captain—er, Civilian Pierce was somewhat perplexed. He just couldn't seem to get over what little effect, if any, his discharge was having on his camp routine. Hawkeye had never realized before just how civilianized his Army life already was.

The only noticeable changes were taking place on the _inside_. He took on a whole new attitude about things. Even getting up in the morning wasn't so bad when he knew he didn't _have_ to do it. He could sleep till noon, forget about his rounds, or even leave Korea and return to the States—_any time he wanted to_! And, just knowing that he had the freedom to make such decisions and direct his own destiny again, must've made a world of difference! Because, even though it was pretty much _business as usual_, Hawkeye _felt_ like a whole _new_ man! The ex-army Captain went about the camp with an infectious smile as his constant companion.

Hawkeye's newly discovered 'joie de vivre' was doubled when Potter handed him B.J. 'passport to freedom' that afternoon and invited him to become one of the three physicians required to validate the thing with their signatures. Hawkeye very gladly added his Dr. Benjamin Franklin Pierce below Dr. Sherman T. Potter and Dr. Charles Emerson Winchester III. Dr. B.F. Pierce then offered to pass the joyous news along to Dr. B.J. Hunnicutt.

The Colonel readily accepted Dr. B.F. Pierce's offer.

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Hawkeye exited Klinger's office at the same moment Lieutenant Davis stepped out of Pre-Op. He flashed the pretty nurse his companionable smile and then sauntered cheerfully up to her. "He awake?"

The woman nodded, wearily. "He's been awake—and complaining—since four o'clock this morning."

Pierce's cheerful demeanor quickly crumbled. B.J. _never_ complained, unless something was really, really, seriously bothering him. In which case, he complained about _everything_! Everything, that is, _except what was really bothering him_. "Complaining about _what_?" he wondered, curious to discover what _wasn't_ the matter with his friend.

"Let's see…his cast itches, his shoulder's sore, his back hurts, his stomach's empty, his throat's dry, his teeth are 'grungy' and, the biggest complaint of all: he finds all this resting very tiring." Davis suddenly had a thought and transformed it into words. "I guess that must mean he's getting better. Up till now, he's been to sick to complain."

Hawkeye looked more concerned than ever. If it wasn't any of those things, then B.J. must be hurting on the inside…and you couldn't ease that kind of pain with a simple sedative. "How does he seem to you?"

"Stiff, sore, bored, irritable and really depressed," Davis replied, sounding a bit stiff, sore, bored, irritable and depressed, herself.

He gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. "Go on. Take a break. I'll stay with him for awhile."

The woman gave him a grateful smile and started limping off in the direction of the Mess Tent. She could sure use a cup of Corporal Walton's coffee.

Hawkeye hesitated to enter the complainer's ward. Finally, he took a deep breath, drew on some courage and ducked inside.

B.J. was lying on his backside, staring blankly up at the ceiling, looking very bored and very glum.

Hawkeye and his smile stepped up beside him. "Say, Bee-eej, how would you like my autograph?"

B.J. appeared tremendously disappointed to see him and his smile standing there. "What I'd like is a bath! I've been ripening under these bandages for over a week, now! The nurses' noses should be awarded Purple Hearts! How much longer am I sup—" he was forced to stop talking, as Hawkeye clamped a hand over his mouth.

Pierce gave his bitter, hurting friend a deeply concerned look and slowly removed his hand. "Okay…What is it, Beej? What's _really_ bothering you?"

B.J. grimaced and shut his eyes, tightly. "You should a' gone _home_, Hawk."

Hawkeye's vision blurred. Gawd it hurt him to see his friend hurting so badly! "I want you to help me celebrate, remember? Your friendship means a great deal to me and I don't want _us_ to part company the way Trapper and I had to. I want _us_ to be able to share one last _good_ time together. And, I don't mind hanging around until you're feeling up to it."

"Then you'll be here for the duration!" B.J. muttered, glumly.

"Neither of us has to be here that long!" Pierce promised and pulled B.J.'s medical discharge from his back pocket. "So, you're not interested in my autograph, huh…Well then perhaps I can interest you in the paper that it's written on. I have here, in my hands, one one-way ticket to _Mill Valley_!"

B.J. suddenly appeared more depressed than ever. He shut his eyes even tighter and swallowed hard, as tears started streaming silently down the sides of his anguished face.

Hawkeye was too stunned and confused by his friend's reaction, to speak.

A long silence followed.

"Sometimes, it helps to talk about it…" Hawkeye quietly confided, when he finally found his voice.

"Sometimes," B.J. shakily agreed.

There was another long silence.

"_This_ could be one of them," Hawkeye hinted.

"It could," Hunnicutt was forced to admit. He slowly opened his eyes and aimed his blurry gaze up at the ceiling. "The nurses are afraid of me, Hawk…afraid to touch me. But that's not what's _really_ bothering me. What's _really_ bothering me is how I react when they do!" he painfully confessed and then turned to his friend. "I'm terrified, Hawk! I _know_…I _know_ there's nothing to be terrified of! I _know_ they aren't gonna hurt me! But, no matter what my _head_ thinks, my _heart_ still practically goes into cardiac arrest every time someone touches me unexpectedly!" He aimed his anguished gaze back up at the ceiling again. "My head…is trying _so ha-ard_ to forget! Why can't my _body_ cooperate?"

Hawkeye just stood there, feeling more frustrated and more helpless than he'd ever felt before in his entire life. 'Then again…maybe this _wasn't_ one of those times,' he glumly realized. No. The time was right. B.J. was just talking to the wrong doctor.

"I talked to Sidney about it, this morning," Hunnicutt continued, as though he were reading his mind. "He says it's a form of 'unconscious reflex conditioning'. He says my body has 'learned to respond to a stimulus without the use of conscious thought'—or some such garbage. But, do you know what it all boils down to?" he invited, bitterly. "My nerves are _shot_! And do you know where that leaves me, as a surgeon? _Washed out!_"

Hawkeye was shocked into silence once again. Somehow, he managed to muster up some words of encouragement. "I'm sure it won't come to tha-at."

"Oh, won't it?" B.J. sarcastically inquired. "I can just see me in the O.R.. A nurse accidentally touches me and—" he made a slicing sound. "Some poor guy is out more than just his appendix!"

Pierce was speechless once more. What could he say? His surgical friend was right. Or, was he? "So…What did Sidney say? I mean, can you be **un**conditioned, or something?"

"He says that it depends on the _degree_ of the conditioning. It could take days, months—years—to get over it!" Fresh tears began to fall. "It could take _forever_," he gloomily predicted.

Hawkeye fought off the gloom and forced himself to assume a more positive approach. "With that kind of an attitude, it could!" he solemnly concurred. "Now, what's the procedure for **un**conditioning? I think we should get started right away! Because I'm not leaving Korea until you're cured!"

B.J. turned back to his friend and blinked his vision clear. "Ha-awk…what about your discharge?"

"What about it? Discharges are a dime a dozen, _these days_! Why, practically everybody's got one!" he added and waved B.J.'s own discharge through the air. "Now, where do we begin?" he impatiently repeated. "I hear that if you don't use these within 30 days, the Army automatically re-enlists you."

B.J. forced a smile but then turned sad again. "Sidney says the best thing would be for me to go home to my wife and daughter."

"Landsakes!" Hawkeye suddenly shouted. "Pack your toothbrush! I'll get us seats on the next plane out of Korea!"

"_I can't leave yet_!" Hunnicutt announced, his voice filled with frustration. "I spent close to an hour yesterday morning assuring Peg that I was _fine_! I can't go home _now_! I can't let her see me like _this_!"

A strange look came over Hawkeye, as something suddenly occurred to him. 'That's it! That must be the secret the survivors shared! You don't leave the war until the war leaves you!'

He'd been trying, for years now, to figure out a way to survive the insanity—the inhumanity—of war.

War had a way of scarring men's' souls, scarring them so deeply and so severely that they ended up carrying all that damn pain and death and destruction around with _them for the rest of their lives_! For some poor, unfortunate human beings, the war _never_ ended. For them, life, itself became one long, never-ending battle…a battle no one ever seemed to win.

Then, of course, there were the exceptions. Guys like Radar, for instance. Pierce knew Radar to be an incredibly sensitive young man. So the horrors of war must have affected him, deeply. Yet, it appeared to have left no _lasting_ scars. Radar was a _survivor_! Radar had survived because, even before he had left Korea, he must've decided that only the good memories were going home with him to Iowa.

So, the war didn't end for a man the moment he physically detached himself from the combat zone. It ended the moment he was willing to leave all the death, the misery, the horrors, the hatred—and scars—behind.

B.J. wasn't leaving the war until the war left him. And, when Hawkeye looked at it that way, maybe he wasn't ready to leave Korea, yet, either. He still had some major 'unpacking' to do. He was suffering from excessive exposure to death, dying, and mutilation. Perhaps a self-prescribed dose—massive dose—of life, living, and mending bodies was just the medicine he needed…

Hawkeye used this same line of reasoning to come up with another interesting notion. If B.J. had been conditioned by cruel, brutal treatment, then maybe all he needed to get **un**conditioned was a large dose of gentle, trusting, loving treatment? Something suddenly occurred to him which caused him to radiate smugness. "If I can get Charles to go along with it, how would you like to become the Chief _Resident_ Surgeon of Sister Tereasa's Infirmary?"

"Me?" B.J. incredulously inquired. "Move into an _orphanage_?" He thought of his previous visits to the infirmary and of how the children had hung on his neck. They were forever latching onto his arms and legs, or tugging on his pant legs…pleading to be held…begging to have him tell them a story…piling into his lap. Why, the kids would be crawling all over him, day and night! He grinned, as the brilliance of his buddy's plan suddenly became apparent. "I'd love to! Where do I sign up?"

Hawkeye returned his grin. "I promise to visit you every day," he paused, to glance in the direction of their own infirmary. "Right after I make my _other_ rounds."

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Speaking of his rounds…and unpacking…

Pierce went straight from Pre-Op to Post-Op and pulled a chair up to sit beside his first patient. The doctor stared the young soldier straight in the face and promptly proffered his palm. "Hi! I'm Benjamin 'Hawkeye' Pierce," he introduced with a smile. "What's your name?"

End of Chapter Eighteen


	20. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

Following Civilian Pierce's visit, Lieutenant Davis noticed a vast improvement in Captain Hunnicutt's physical and mental well being.

Major Winchester noticed it, too.

Now, instead of complaining, their patient kept demanding to be moved out of his solitary confinement in Pre-Op and into one of the more inhabited wards.

And, after viewing the results of B.J.'s latest labs, Charles reluctantly gave in to his demands.

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The next morning found B.J. propped up in bed in his new quarters in their old Post-Op.

He stared around the room at the eleven other beds in the ward. The beds were all empty. Their occupants were all ambulatory patients. Which meant their wounds were not severe enough to keep them from roaming the compound. Which meant his roommates got to stroll, hobble, or be wheeled over to the Mess for their breakfast.

While he, on the other hand, was too weak to walk. Heck, he couldn't even sit up without the support of pillows! But, even if he could've made it over to the Mess, he wouldn't've been able to feed himself. His left wrist and hand were still entombed in plaster…his right shoulder was still immobilized. He was totally dependent on _others_ to feed him. He was glad the _others_ were his friends. Friends had a way of taking some of the _humiliation _out of it.

Speaking of humiliation…

B.J. gave the unoccupied beds one last envious glance and turned back to the 30 year old woman who was currently playing 'choo choo' with him.

As her patient opened his mouth to speak, Margaret quickly shoved another forkful of scrambled eggs into it.

B.J. gave the smug-looking nurse an irritated glare but then was forced to smile. He chewed and winced and swallowed. It seemed his teeth were tightening up a bit. "Wanna hear something ironic?" he inquired, before she could reload. "Ten days ago, I'd a' given anything to be able to just lie here, like this. And now, I'd give just about anything to be able to stand up!" He smiled sadly and shook his head at the irony of it all.

Margaret's 'choo choo' halted in mid-air, derailed by the Captain's bitter statement. She found the situation more infuriating than ironic. Even the man's two-week's growth of beard and bandages couldn't hide the evidence of the abusive treatment he'd received at the hands of his cruel captors. Her eyes blazed with hatred and anger. But then they quickly softened again, as Winchester's words suddenly came back to her. 'Charles is right,' she thought. 'You have suffered enough…' "You just keep eating your eggies, like a good little boy, and someday you'll stand up straight and tall…like your Uncle Hawkeye," she teasingly tacked on.

B.J. gave her another irritated glare.

Which she pretended not to notice. "Speaking of eating… Isn't Corporal Walton a wonderful cook?"

When Doctor Winchester had informed him that his ileus had resolved itself, and that he had heard bowel sounds, Doctor Hunnicutt was delighted! Because he sure had an appetite. "I guess I must be too starved to notice. I'm so hungry, even Sergeant Krause's meatballs would've made it down!"

"Yes. But would they have _stayed_ down?" the pretty woman teased, with a grin.

B.J. was forced to chuckle.

"Good morning, Major," an unfamiliar voice formally spoke up, dispelling the levity of the moment.

The two officers turned to the source of the greeting—a rather formal looking fellow in newly issued and freshly pressed Army olive drabs. There was certainly nothing drab about his attire, however. Why, it was perfectly _spit and polished_! Right down to the shiny brass bugles on the starched collar of his shirt. He looked completely out of place.

"Good morning, Captain," Margaret politely replied. "B.J., this is Captain McHennick…Hawkeye's replacement. Doctor McHennick, this is—"

"—Hi there, soldier!" McHennick interrupted and snatched the patient's medical chart up from the foot of his bed. "Say, I don't remember ever seeing _you_ before. You been around long?"

B.J. saw that the man was waiting for an answer. "Nearly a year," he obligingly informed the ill-mannered chap.

"I know what you mean, soldier. It seems like I've been here a year already, too." McHennick glanced over the medical chart in his hands. "My, my…you've taken quite a beating, haven't you soldier!"

The _soldier_ and his nurse turned to one another, astounded by the unwitting accuracy of the new arrival's preliminary diagnosis.

McHennick gave the soldier a sympathetic glance and then perused the patient's chart again, this time, looking a bit confused and more than a little suspicious. "Not exactly the type of injuries one would expect to find in _combat_," he smugly hinted.

The _soldier's_ expression turned appropriately solemn. Except for his eyes, which took on a mischievous gleam. "I was drinking and driving," he confessed, "and took a shortcut through a mine field."

The officer's smug look transformed into one of shock…then skepticism. He turned to the Major for verification.

Margaret's eyes sparkled with a bit of mischief themselves. "If you think he's in bad shape, you should see the jeep!"

McHennick was doubly stunned. He gave the soldier a disapproving glare. Then he replaced the chart and hurried off, looking too disgusted for words.

B.J. and Margaret cracked up.

"Is that guy _for real_?" Hunnicutt inquired when he regained his composure enough to speak.

"What guy?" Hawkeye wondered, as he came stepping up to his chuckling chums.

B.J. gazed suspiciously up at his buddy. "Did you put him up to that?"

Pierce looked a little bewildered…and then thoughtful. "Ohhh-ohhh…I get it. I take it you've met _Captain Conceit_?" he reasoned lightly and looked curious. "So-o…what did yah think of 'im, Beej?"

B.J. stared off in the direction 'Captain Conceit' had vanished into. "I kept getting the feeling that we'd met somewhere before…"

"Maybe you did," Hawkeye reasoned further.

"Nah! I think it's probably because he does one of the best Frank Burns impersonations I've ever seen."

The three friends exchanged grins.

"He kind a' reminds me of Charles…you know, when he first got here. You remember how humble and modest Charles was," Hawkeye sarcastically summed up.

They swapped grins again.

"What about you, Margaret?" Hawkeye invited. "Who does he remind _you_ of?"

"You two aren't being very fair," she chastised. "I mean, the man's barely been here for 48 hours, and you expect me to pass judgement on him?"

"Ah, c'mon, Margaret," B.J. urged. "I've barely known him _five minutes_. That didn't stop _me_…"

Margaret saw that the two men were waiting for her to comment. "Well…there is someone that he sort a' reminds me of…" she was forced to admit.

"Who?" Hawkeye demanded, as she hesitated.

"Little Max," she replied and then grinned, seeing her companions were convulsed in laughter.

'Little Max' was the counter-balance dummy on Captain Hill's EVAC chopper.

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When Pierce announced that he and Hunnicutt's discharges had been set aside while they both finished unpacking, Colonel Potter assumed plans for the celebration to end all celebrations would be 'set aside', too. But he was mistaken.

If anything, Hawkeye seemed more determined than ever and he enthusiastically pointed out to his completely confused C.O. that there were still plenty of reasons for holding such a hullabaloo.

Why, there was the success of B.J.'s surgery, the 4077th's new Field Hospital status, Sergeant Krause's transfer back to the States, Corporal Walton's transfer to their kitchen, the Chinese retreat, the resumption of the Peace Talks, the overall winding down of the war…the fact that it was Saturday and the sun was shining.

Of all these perfectly good excuses for celebrating, Potter liked the last one best. It was a glorious day! And, his hard-working troops were past due for a break. So, he readily consented to Pierce's rather eccentric Wingding.

Sherman left Captain McHennick in charge of the camp. A fitting choice, since the man already acted like he ran the place, anyway.

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The Mess Tent's benches and tables were carted out into the compound and the celebration to end all celebrations began that afternoon with the entire camp enjoying a picnic lunch.

The hungry picnickers made Corporal Walton's potato salad, baked beans and barbecued hot dogs and hamburgers disappear in short order.

And, following a best two out of three volleyball tournament, the celebrators moved indoors for a little relaxation, dancing and refreshment.

Since B.J. couldn't join the party, the party joined him. Half of the beds in his ward were removed to accommodate the dancers, and the celebrating continued.

B.J.'s recovering kidney couldn't tolerate a drastic change in his medication, either. So Corporal Walton prepared about twenty gallons of zero proof punch.

Well, the punch started out zero proof. But then, he accidentally spilt six bottles of his best cooking Sherry into it…and Colonel Potter very discreetly poured in three bottles of his best Scotch. Finally, Pierce spiked their spikings with a couple a' quarts of his vintage eight-day-old gin.

The end result was a rather tasty concoction that everyone found _most_ refreshing.

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The celebration was still going strong that evening, when an ambulance bus pulled into the compound with more ambulatory M.A.S.H. transfer patients for their Field Hospital.

Captain McHennick placed a cot down in the middle of the celebrators' dance floor.

"What is the meaning of this?" Master of Ceremonies Pierce inquired over the orchestral accompaniment of a blaring phonograph.

The Captain gave the slightly inebriated M.C. a disgusted, disapproving glare. "We're turning your nightclub back into a hospital, Pierce! There are six new patients waiting outside, to make better use of this space!"

'Pierce' was obviously satisfied with the officer's explanation, for he went waltzing up the center aisle with his IV stand.

McHennick gave the drunken doctor's back one last disgusted sneer and went off to fetch more beds…and more beds…and more beds.

Soon, the ward was once again filled with beds and the beds were soon filled with patients. Those capable of doing so, sat on the edges of their cots, staring at the rowdy, raucous group of partyers—in amazement.

"What's goin' on around here, Captain?" one of them inquired of McHennick.

"Yeah," another joined in, "who are these drunks?"

McHennick appeared more disgusted than ever. "These 'drunks' are your doctors…and nurses."

The new arrivals were even more amazed.

"What's the occasion, sir?" someone curiously inquired.

"I believe they are celebrating Captain Pierce's discharge," McHennick explained. "But I have no idea why they chose to _do_ their celebrating _in here_!" He watched the new arrivals as they watched Pierce go waltzing by with his IV stand. "That is the guest of honor," he informed them, disgustedly.

"How'd he get out, sir?" another wondered. "On a Section Eight?"

McHennick chuckled delightedly. "I wouldn't be a bit surprised, soldier!" he admitted and then headed off to attend to his other duties, as Officer of The Day.

Hawkeye saw the new arrivals staring at him and his dance partner. He waltzed to a stop. "Welcome to the celebration to end all celebrations, gentlemen! There is a minimum one-wound cover charge to get in. But, once you're in, the drinks and the entertainment are free!"

The young soldiers glanced uncertainly at one another.

Winchester let out a rather jovial snort and turned to Pierce, as he collapsed exhaustedly into the empty chair beside him. "Indeed!" he agreed. "And Benjamin, here, is the floor show!"

Everyone cracked a grin but Hawkeye, who had to really struggle to keep a straight face. "_Benjamin_?" he repeated and slowly straightened in his seat. "Whatever happened to _Pierce_?"

"Why, haven't you heard?" Charles queried. "He's been _discharged_!"

Everybody cracked up.

Benjamin was laughing so hard he fell off his chair.

Winchester saw the young soldiers staring down at Hawkeye in astonishment. "What's the matter? Haven't you ever seen a floor show before?"

The celebrators were in tears now.

Hawkeye clutched his mirth-sore ribs and stomped his feet on the floor.

Charles seemed oblivious to the hilarity his comments had caused and he stared at his convulsed companions in confusion. "My 'funny bone' must be on the fritz," he calmly confessed and continued to casually sip his punch.

B.J. turned to the person who had been carefully administering his 'medication'. "Nurse, schedule this bombed Bostonian for immediate corrective surgery!" he ordered, lightly.

"Right away, Doctor!" Lieutenant Davis acknowledged, equally lightly and the two of them exchanged grins.

The new arrivals glanced at one another again—astounded by this latest development. Not only were the drunks doctors, but their fellow patient appeared to be one, as well!

One of the stunned young soldiers turned to the bed-ridden heavily bandaged lavender and green guy. "Are you a _real_ doctor?"

"He likes to _pretend_ he is," Margaret quipped and got several amused snorts and a grin and respectful nod from the real _pretend_ doctor. She knew B.J. would appreciate the play on words.

B.J. turned back to his young questioner. "Well, these jokers apparently feel that's debatable. But I do have a diploma from medical school."

His fellow patients look even more astounded and more than a little curious. "What the hell happened to you?" the private closest to him pondered. "Sir."

The mood suddenly switched from merry…to morbid.

"I tripped on an Oriental rug in a Tokyo hotel," B.J. answered, in a valiant attempt to recapture the light mood before it was lost forever. "I fell down three flights of stairs…and landed smack dab in the middle of a water fountain…then this great big heavy statue of Venus De Marlowe toppled right down on me…and I nearly drowned!"

B.J.'s companions gritted their teeth and avoided each other's eyes, but to no avail. The sound of their muffled snickering caused his fellow patients' looks to turn from sympathy to skepticism.

"If you got hurt in Tokyo, how'd you ever end up in Korea?"

"I have no idea," B.J. replied, sounding as confused as the kid who had posed the question. "But I remember…just before I passed out…I remember demanding to be given the _best medical care possible_! And, the next thing I knew…I woke up and found myself _here_."

"That's ri-ight!" Klinger quickly concurred and turned to lead his fellow M.A.S.H.ers in a group recital of their camp's motto.

"_Best care anywhere_!" the troops all chorused together and exchanged high-fives and grins.

"What really happened to him, sir?" another private impatiently demanded, as Captain Pierce pulled himself back up onto his chair.

Once again a gloom threatened to descend on their little celebration.

And, just for a fraction of a second, Hawkeye's face filled with sadness. But then his eyes locked on B.J.'s and he forced himself to brighten again. "The truth is…he got deliriously drunk over at Rosie's Bar the other night…and stumbled out into the path of a runaway rickshaw…the driver of which was also deliriously drunk…and who is at this very moment sitting behind a different kind of bars…for peddling while under the influence!"

The new arrivals were amused but unconvinced by his account.

One of the young privates turned to Potter. "How 'bout it, Colonel? Did he really get hurt at Rosie's Bar?"

"Well, yes!" Potter replied without a moment's hesitation. His steely-blues locked on B.J.'s own blue eyes. "But it didn't happen quite that way. You see, these ten marines came in and started bothering the nurses. And, well…he'd had a few too many…and so he took all ten of them on…single-handedly!"

The patients thought that over for awhile and then turned to Winchester. "Is that true, Major?"

"Certainly not!" Charles scoffed. He locked gazes with B.J., as well. "There were only five Marines…I know…I was there…and I counted!"

B.J. flashed him a grateful grin.

Charles returned the grin and continued. "But then, the Captain has always been prone to exaggeration."

"It's true," B.J. admitted. "For instance, I once said that the Major here was the finest surgeon I'd ever seen. But he's just one of the finest…" he concluded, giving Pierce and Potter grateful grins, as well.

They returned his grins and everybody raised their punch glasses to toast the fine surgeons.

McHennick stepped back into the ward. "All right, it's twenty-two hundred hours! Time to go and let these patients get some rest!" he strongly urged and raised the needle from the record on their phonograph.

"Captain, do _you_ know what happened to him?" a private pondered and pointed to B.J..

McHennick nodded. "While driving with impaired judgement, his jeep hit a landmi—" The rest of his remark was drowned out by laughter.

The celebrators all bid B.J. 'goodnight' and began filing, and chuckling, out of the ward.

"I was at the 8063rd when they brought him in," one of the older arrivals whispered. "I overheard some of the nurses talking. They said that he'd been captured by the North Koreans and _tortured_."

The new arrivals looked thoughtful and then glum.

"We may as well forget it," one of them sadly surmised. "We ain't never gonna get a _straight _answer!"

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The celebration to end all celebrations staggered over to Rosie's Bar, to allow B.J. and the others to rest.

Then, at about midnight, Charles and the Master of Ceremonies dragged their company clerk over to his office to help them send a telegram.

"Okay. What do you want this _critical _message of yours to read?" Klinger asked the two sloshed surgeons as they leaned against each other and he leaned over his desk for support.

The pair looked about as thoughtful as two men who are three sheets in the wind could look.

"How 'bout this?" Pierce prompted. "Dear Dartanien STOP The King's bodyguards are all alive and well STOP."

Charles readily endorsed their message's content. "Oh! Tres apropos!"

Klinger stared at them in disbelief. "That's it?"

They nodded.

"And who am I supposed to send it to?"

"To whoomm," Winchester corrected, with a slur.

Max gave the Major an annoyed glare. "To whoomm am I supposed ta send it?" he smartly repeated.

"Send it to Army Intelligence," Hawkeye suggested.

The Major grinned and nodded his approval of the chosen recipient.

"Okay," Klinger reluctantly acknowledged. "But don't blame me if it's intercepted."

"Why, Sergeant…do you not seeeee? That is the whole idea!" Charles finished, with a flourish.

"No. I do not seeeee," Max muttered, as the two tipsy doctors staggered out the door. "And I hope I never do!"

Hawkeye and Charles heard his comment and went chuckling off across the compound.

End Of Chapter Nineteen


	21. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

As it turned out, the timing for their little celebration to end all celebrations couldn't have been better!

For, three short days later, on July 1st, 1953, the United States Army began issuing early discharges to all officers and enlisted men who had seen ten months or more active duty during the Korean Conflict.

That meant that, with the exception of Corporal Walton and Captain McHennick, everyone assigned to the 4077th was eligible! Yes, their little group had seen more than their share of _conflict_ in Korea.

Trials and tribulations have a tendency to pull people together. After enduring as many trials and overcoming as many tribulations as they had, their little group couldn't possibly have gotten any closer. The _conflicting_ conditions they were forced to work under had molded them into a tightly knit unit and news that their unit was about to be broken up left them stunned.

They were too happy to be sad and yet too sad to be really happy. And so, a kind of emotional numbness pervaded the camp.

Captain Mulcahy never did make it back from his two weeks of R&R. He was transferred from Tokyo, Japan to Fort Bennett, Texas, in the twinkling of an order.

In fact, a day didn't pass that they weren't bidding a tearful goodbye to some member of their family and a half-hearted hello to some total stranger.

Everybody in the camp was grateful to Hawkeye for organizing their one last good time together—while they were still in the mood for celebrating.

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When Pierce first asked permission to move their patient into the infirmary at Sister Tereasa's Orphanage, Winchester thought he must be joking.

But then Hawkeye asked again and Charles realized that he wasn't _joking_. He was merely _out of his mi-ind_!

So Captain Hunnicutt remained in the old Post Op where he acquired a hearty appetite for Corporal Walton's cooking. He asked to be fed eight times a day, in the hope that he could somehow eat his way back to health.

Within a week, he had regained enough of his lost strength to be able to stand up straight and tall again. Though, as a result of some of his deeper contusions, he did walk with a slight limp.

The moment B.J. got back on his feet, he began playing doctor with the other patients in Doctor McHennick's ward.

Doctor McHennick would tolerate no competition from this soldier—regardless of his rank. So Captain Conceit complained to the Colonel…who complained to Winchester…who complained to his patient, saying that while he was being doctored, he was to refrain from doctoring others.

Because he would make no promises, B.J. was banished from all the wards and forced into exile in the Swamp.

With no patients to attend to, the convalescing Captain combated boredom by dreaming and scheming up the most devilishly clever ways to drive the rest of the camp crazy!

No one in the camp was spared. Even the patients found themselves on the receiving end of some of the crafty Captain's more imaginative (yet perfectly harmless) hoaxes.

After one of his playful patient's pranks was perpetrated upon him, Charles began to view Hawkeye's insane request in a different light.

Complaints started trickling in to the Colonel, who visited Hunnicutt and requested that he cease and desist from his practical jokery.

But, once again, the brooding, bored physician could make no promises.

At Major Winchester's suggestion, B.J. was banished from the entire camp, this time, and exiled to the infirmary of Sister Tereasa's Orphanage. Where Doctor Winchester checked on him every morning and Doctor Pierce visited him every night…right after he finished his other rounds—correction, after he and Captain McHennick finished _their_ other rounds. It seemed like Captain Conceit went out of his way to get in his way.

McHennick bore the same gripe about Pierce and complained about him to the Colonel. McHennick said that he had been sent there as a replacement for Pierce but that he couldn't be a proper replacement if Pierce remained in the camp doing his job!

Potter told him he'd make a right proper replacement for Captain Hunnicutt then for _he_ no longer remained in the camp doing his job.

A horrified McHennick assured the Colonel that he was _no_ soldier!

Potter told him not to worry that Hunnicutt was no candidate for the cover of 'Stars and Stripes', himself!

A heartbroken McHennick sadly stated that all he wanted to do was practice medicine.

The Colonel told him that he should make a splendid replacement then because that was _Doctor_ Hunnicutt's favorite pastime, too!

A stunned McHennick walked numbly and humbly back to his—er, Doctor Hunnicutt's ward.

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Hawkeye didn't have as much trouble unpacking, as he thought he'd have. In fact, he already considered the war as being over with. After all, the Army would've never issued the 'early outs' if the end weren't close in sight. He was so confident, in fact, that he began dismantling their still and shipping it home…one piece at a time. That way, he reasoned, it would slip past the Revenuers undetected. Of course, once his father had all the pieces, he'd probably put 'tube and tube' together and figure it out.

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Family members weren't the only ones leaving the 4077th those days. It was a time of healing for everyone. The wards were growing emptier and emptier everyday as their patients were being shipped overseas to hospitals back in the States…and there were no new casualties to take their place.

One patient followed his doctors' examples and passed up every opportunity to leave. It was Lieutenant Ron Ames intention to leave with Major Margaret Houlahan and then stay with Margaret Houlahan-Ames for the rest of his life. He spent all of his time and energy trying to get her to share his intention.

Margaret was flattered but stubborn. She told him that the Army was her whole way of life and that she could never live any other way.

He told her that nursing was her real way of life and that the Army was just her way of pleasing her retired Army Colonel father. He said that he was sure she could make her father just as proud of his ex-Army Major daughter if she were to pursue her nursing career as a civilian. He told her that it was about time that she started thinking of pleasing _herself,_ for a change.

Margaret wouldn't speak to him at all for several days and when she finally did, she told him that it was too late for her to change…that too much water had gone under the bridge.

Ron told her better late than never…and that they could build new bridges—together.

Margaret denied this fanciful idea of his and continued to deny it…right up until about three hours before Ron's plane was due to leave States' side. Then, a lost and lonely Army Major stormed into her Colonel's office and asked him for her discharge.

Her very wise C.O. had prepared it and her travel papers—just in case. But, before he'd hand them over, he asked her if she'd still want them if she was promoted to Lieutenant Colonel and assigned to an administrative office at Walter Reed's.

A misty-eyed Margaret assured him she'd want them even if she were promoted to Brigadier General and assigned to the Pentagon!

A misty-eyed Colonel Potter then pinned the silver oak leaf insignia of her new (and never to be old) rank to her collar and gave her a salute, a hug, a stack of official-looking papers and his best wishes.

After a tearfully short goodbye, Ex-Lieutenant Colonel Margaret Houlahan had Mullen fly her down to the Seoul airfield where she joined Ex-1st Lieutenant Ron Ames for a…lifetime.

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The day after Margaret's departure, B.J. showed up in camp and asked to be adopted—and to have his honorable medical discharge changed to just a plain old honorable one.

Colonel Potter took the orphan in and gave him a complete physical.

Hunnicutt's wrist and shoulder had mended well and his cast and sling were removed. Except for the two scars on his wrists and the two on his back, a tinge of yellow and brown here and there and the fact that he was still about twenty pounds underweight, the Captain was the nearly perfect picture of health.

His C.O. declared him fit for duty and then handed him a fresh set of documents discharging him from having to perform it…just plain old honorably.

B.J. declared that, thanks to his friends and fellow orphans, his reflex conditioning had nearly disappeared…along with about ninety percent of his bruises. He announced that he was now ready…willing…and able to go home.

Hawkeye found his discharge and made arrangements to leave Korea with his _favorite_ favorite friend.

Charles secured his discharge and determined that he would accompany his bunkmates back to the States.

The three of them shared a few drinks in their Officer's and Enlisted Men's Club, and a few more over at Rosie's. They spent the rest of the evening, their last night in the Swamp, together…sipping Charles' fancy French booze and packing up their belongings, to the wistful accompaniment of Jean-Pierre Rampal and Chopin's Variations on a theme from Rossini's 'La Cenerentola'.

Colonel Potter and Klinger joined them in the Swamp around midnight and they made one final toast—a toast of farewell…which they had difficulty swallowing.

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When Winchester dryly remarked the next morning that they had packed up everything but the tent, strange looks suddenly came over his companions.

Hawkeye and B.J. turned to each other, wearing broad, devious grins. "Why not!" they chorused.

Then, right before an appalled Winchester's wide eyes, they proceeded to dismantle and pack up their tent. It didn't take them too long. They'd had lots of practice. The heavy, cumbersome canvas was stashed into a large wooden crate and tagged: "CONTENTS One Discharged Government Issue SWAMP".

And, after arranging for the crate's transfer to a garage in Crab Apple Cove, Maine, and an extremely emotional and short goodbye (Potter despised long ones.) Hawkeye and B.J. and Charles were off on the first leg of their long journey…home.

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It seemed the closer they got to their destination, the more uncharacteristically quiet and withdrawn B.J. was becoming.

While they were sitting in the airport in Tokyo, waiting for seats on the next Eastbound flight, he stopped talking entirely and Hawkeye was compelled to inquire as to what was wrong. "What is it, Beej?"

His moody friend looked up from the letter he'd been reading and rereading. "Huh? Oh. Nothing. I was just thinking. You know, last month Peg actually made more money than I did."

Hawkeye noticed that his buddy seemed more worried than jealous. 'But why should his wife's income worry him? It shouldn't. Unless…' "You're thinking about telling her, aren't you!"

B.J. was only mildly surprised by his friend's on-target statement. "I have to."

"I thought we had 'that' all settled? Didn't you promise me you were gonna forget it?"

"I promised to always write 'cheerful' letters home."

"Okay. So now why are you planning to _depress_ her in person?"

"Becau-ause…with _fidelity_ out of the way, the only claim I can still make concerning our relationship is _honesty_. I've always been honest with her and I've got to be honest with her now."

"Fine. But I still think you're making a _big_ mista-ake."

"I've already made the _big_ mistake, remember? Now all I gotta do is find the courage to face up to the consequences…"

"If it's any consolation to you, the Peg Hunnicutt I've come to know through you and her letters seems like a very understanding, _forgiving_ sort of person."

"Oh, she is! And if I had been out all night with the guys instead of with another woman, I know she'd be understanding…and forgiving. But I've never been unfaithful to her before. I have no idea how she's going to react…and I'm scared. Because she's managed very well _on her own_ for the past year. Because she's accustomed to life _without _me…and because she just might decide to _keep _it that way…"

"Yeah? Well, don't sell her or yourself so short. After all, you would a' never even made the big mistake in the first place if you weren't such a _nice_ gu-uy. And, while you're being so honest with her, be sure to include these honest little details in your account: like how _she_ invited you over to _her_ tent and like how you went there with the honorable intention of comforting a depressed friend. Granted, you should have known better. But, nobody's _totally_ perfect. Though, I must say…you do come pretty close."

"Thanks, Hawk. Yah know, you're pretty perfect, yourself."

The two close to perfect friends exchanged broad grins.

Charles returned from his search for nourishment just then, saw their grins and suddenly felt a bit nervous. "You two are not plotting anything, are you?"

"You mean like a whoopee cushion under your seat?" Hawkeye innocently inquired.

"Or a joy buzzer in your pocket?" B.J. added.

Charles' hopeful expression vanished as his traveling companions turned to each other and shrugged…innocently. He feared the trip to San Francisco would prove to be a long one for him.

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It would prove to be an even longer one for their ex-patient.

The strain of over thirty-six hours of nearly continuous travel was almost too much for B.J. who, while having regained his health, was still a might lacking in the reserve energy and endurance departments.

By the time their Globemaster plane taxied to a stop on runway 9 of San Francisco's International Airport, Hunnicutt was on the verge of collapsing. His traveling companions had to practically carry him down the stairs of the unloading ramp.

The three of them stopped on the bottom step for a moment and stared down at the tarmac. Beneath that pavement was American soil…something they at times had thought they would never step foot on again. They glanced at each other and smiled. They then planted all six of their feet down on solid ground.

The three travelers just stood there for awhile, squinting in the bright sunlight and looking confused. Their biological clocks read: middle of the night, while their eyes were registering: middle of the day.

Hawkeye had called 'Trapper' John McIntyre from Tokyo the night before…or was it the morning before? Whichever it was, the man was waiting for them when they reached the Main Terminal.

After the two old buddies finished their bear-hugging, backslapping, hand-shaking, wisecracking reunion, and all introductions were made and all baggage was claimed, Trapper offered to buy everybody breakfast.

The weary travelers thanked him and then tried to explain that while their eyes were indeed saying it was time to wake up, their brains were screaming it was time to go to bed.

McIntyre laughed and said that was how it was for him when he first got back, too. He then announced that his old buddy was gonna be bunking with him. But, before he took Hawkeye home and put him ta bed, he wanted ta take his friends ta wherever they were gonna be stayin'.

The Bostonian thanked their hospitable host and requested to be taken to the nearest hotel. He had a twelve-hour layover before his next flight and he intended to 'kill' at least ten of those hours in his sleep.

"You don't have to go to a hotel, Charles. We have a guestroom. I'd love for you to meet Peg and I'm sure she wouldn't mind the company."

"Thank you…B.J.," Charles replied, addressing Hunnicutt by his first name. "But _two_ is company…three's a _crowd_," he added, with a grateful grin and an uncharacteristic contraction. Hey…he was back in civilization. It was no longer necessary to speak the Queen's English.

The three Ex-Swamp Rats exchanged grins and handshakes.

Charles then asked 'Hawk' to see to it that 'B.J.' made it to bed.

Just before parting company, the tired trio made a solemn pledge…to _try_ to keep in touch.

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Trapper and Hawkeye dropped B.J. off at 2102 East Leslie, his suburban home in Mill Valley, where he intended to give his wife and daughter the surprise of their lives!

But, they surprised him even more…by not being there.

Pierce and McIntyre half-carried their crushed companion upstairs.

"What? No story?" B.J. teased as Hawkeye carefully tucked him into bed.

"Not tonight—er, today. But I will give you this…" Hawkeye bent down and kissed his sleepy friend on the forehead. "Sweet dreams, Beej! I honestly hope everything works out okay with Peg."

"Thanks, Hawk," B.J. shakily replied. He took and shook Hawkeye's hand. Only, this time, he wasn't afraid to release it. Because he wasn't _really_ letting go…he could _never_ **really** let go. There was—and always would be—an unbreakable bond between them. Hunnicutt was confident that their bond of friendship was both long and strong enough to stretch clear across the country.

Pierce promised to stop by for a visit before he left for home, himself and then…he was gone.

Hunnicutt hugged his pillow…and waited for his wife and daughter to return.

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Peg Hunnicutt carried her groceries and her baby girl into the house. The groceries were put away. Her one-year-old was carted upstairs. It was time for the baby's afternoon nap.

While her Mommy prepared her crib—and a fresh diaper—for her, Erin Hunnicutt toddled off to go exploring.

She reached her Mommy's bedroom and froze in the open doorway.

There, in her Mommy's bed, was a sleeping mustached man who strongly resembled her 'Dawddy.'

Erin studied the motionless figure for a few moments and then jerked, startled, as her Mother called her name. She turned and went toddling back to her room, jabbering "Dawddy…Dawddy…Dawddy," all the way. She toddled right up to her Mother and then pointed to the picture of her Dawddy that was taped to the wall above her crib. "Dawddy-Dawddy-Dawddy," she jabbered so excitedly that Peg couldn't help but laugh.

"Yes, Erin," Peg patiently reassured her. "That's your Dawddy…" the woman's words trailed off and her grin vanished. She flashed the man in the photo a wistful smile, before continuing her search for the baby powder. By the time she located the can of talcum, the little person, whose bottom she intended to apply it to, had vanished…again. She grinned and gasped in frustration. "Er-in? Come he-ere! Mommy's gonna change your diaper…"

Her daughter obediently appeared in the open doorway a few moments later. She was holding something in her tightly clenched little fists.

"Erin, show Mommy what you've go—" Peg stopped talking, as her baby girl came toddling back into her room towing an olive drab jacket. An Army officer's jacket, a Captain's, judging by the two silver bars that were pinned on its epaulets. She was too stunned to move.

The powder can slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor with a dull 'thunk'.

The sound snapped her frozen limbs into action. She went dashing out the door and down the hall.

Mrs. Hunnicutt skidded to a stop in front of the open doorway to her room. Mr. Hunnicutt was lying there…in _their_ bed…sound asleep. "B-B.J.?" she quietly declared. Her voice, and whole entire body, trembled with excitement. She rushed up to her no longer missing mate. "Darling?" she called out a bit louder.

But he just kept right on sleeping.

Peg couldn't wait for him to wake up. She had to take him in her arms. She had to hold him…hold him…hold him! She had been waiting soooooo lo-ong to hold him!

But B.J. still didn't stir from his slumber.

No matter. Peg held his limp body close to her heart and began rocking him…and crying. She had shed many a tear during his absence. His safe return certainly warranted a few more tears…of joy!

When even her crying failed to rouse him, Peg sniffled and pulled back. She blinked her vision clear and then took a good, long look at the unconscious man. Her husband's handsome face was expressionless. Unless 'wrung out' counted. She had never seen him look that exhausted before…or that thin! "What have they done to you?" she angrily demanded.

Her husband failed to reply.

She pulled him back into her arms and held on to him tighter than ever.

Her—their daughter appeared in the doorway. Erin was still clutching her Father's jacket and still slobbering on the U.S. Army Medical Corps insignia that was pinned to its lapel. The baby gave her Mommy a big smile and then pointed the shiny, brass, winged, serpents and staff insignia at the mustached man in her arms. "Dawddy."

"Yes," her Mother assured her, with a sad smile. "_This_ _is your Dawddy_." At least, Peg sure hoped it was.

Her two biggest fears in the past year had been that her husband would never make it home alive…or that he'd make it home okay but the war would have changed him into a completely different person. Peg wanted _B.J._ back. She wanted the man she'd first fallen in love with.

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Since Mrs. Hunnicutt couldn't bring herself to leave her husband, she placed her—their daughter in the charge of a sitter.

Peg remained at B.J.'s side all that afternoon and into the evening.

The woman spent the long hours of her vigil rereading the letters her husband had sent her from Korea. The pages were filled with his firsthand impressions of war.

B.J. had tried to balance his accounts with equal portions of horror and humor. But the overwhelming frustration and anger that he felt, concerning the absolute _senselessness_ of it all, was always there…hidden between the lines.

B.J.'s letters had provided Peg with the opportunity to share, at least in part, his feelings and experiences during a very trying time…a time she felt _she could never have survived_.

Had her gentle, soft-spoken, sensitive, easy-going husband survived? Or, had all that frustration and anger caused him to become cold and callous, bitter and withdrawn?

Her husband drew a deep breath in…exhaled it as a groan…and then ran a hand over his face.

The woman was about to find out.

B.J. was about to roll over and go back to sleep, when his nose suddenly detected a familiar fragrance and his foggy brain finally registered where he was. His eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright. "Peg?"

She was in his arms before he could even finish speaking her name.

As he held her…his embrace was firm, yet gentle. As he tried to tell her how much he loved and missed her…his words were soft-spoken.

And, as B.J. broke down and cried, Peg cried, too. The man she loved had survived!

They held each other tightly for a very long time.

B.J. gradually withdrew from their embrace.

Peg gave him a confused, questioning look.

Which he didn't see because he was avoiding her gaze. B.J. began to draw on the courage that he'd been trying to muster since leaving Korea. Why was it so hard to be honest? Why couldn't his mouth seem to form the words? No doubt about it! Saying what he had to say was proving to be the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his entire life… 'convincing' the young NK Lieutenant to help them, included! He turned and stared blurrily into her beautiful blue eyes. "Peg, I—" He was forced to stop talking, as she pressed her fingers to his lips.

"I…know about…Lieutenant Donovan," Peg told him, in a whisper and watched, as the most _amazed_ look came over his face. She took one of his letters from the stack of letters on her—their nightstand. "Sometimes…what you _didn't_ say…told me more…than what you _did_," she softly explained. "And _guilt_…is written all over these pages…if you know how to…read between the lines."

B.J. looked even more amazed.

"Still, I'm glad _you_ decided to tell me," Peg quietly continued. "Because _I've_ decided…that, instead of hating you…for the one night you _weren't_ faithful to me…I'm going to love you…and continue loving you…for the 337 nights that you _were_."

Her husband's vision blurred again. He took her gently back into his arms and they kissed…a tender…passionate…kiss.

Peg began to giggle.

B.J. pulled back and stared at his giggling mate in confusion.

"I can't help it," she declared with a grin. "Your mustache tickles."

"Want me to shave it off?" B.J. offered.

Peg grinned again and shook her pretty blonde head. "_I love you just the way you are_…"

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On the way to McIntyre's apartment, the two reunited Army pals had discussed Trapper's disunited marriage.

Hawkeye noticed that his friend talked about the divorce like it was a traffic summons.

There was no trace of bitterness or regret in Trapper's voice—until he mentioned who got custody of the girls…and the amount of his alimony check.

But Pierce knew that McIntyre was hurting inside. He knew that Trapper loved his ex-wife dearly and he suspected his 'liberated' friend would some day experience a great deal of 'regret'.

Trapper announced that he had a couple a' girls lined up for that night. Then he started reminiscing about the good old days at the 4077th. McIntyre reminded Pierce of some of the great times—and nurses—they'd shared together.

As he listened to Trapper's tales, Hawkeye realized—for the first time—just what a _settling_ influence B.J. Hunnicutt must have had on him. He must have helped him reach some sort of an _emotional maturity_, or something. Because he was no longer satisfied with one-night stands. The word commitment no longer terrified him. Hawkeye wanted whatever future relationship that might develop, between him and a member of the opposite sex, to be as meaningful as it was enjoyable.

Hawkeye suddenly had a thought. How much of a settling influence could he have on Trapper in just three days?

"So…Hawk…You in the mood for a blonde…or a brunette?" he heard McIntyre inquire.

'Hawk' turned to his woman-chasing chum and smiled. It was gonna be _real interesting_ finding out.

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To no one's surprise—especially not Radar's—Max Klinger was the last of 'them' to leave Korea. He left the day his replacement arrived—July the 27th, 1953…the day the Truce was signed.

Twelve hours later, the Korean War was ended.

**EPILOGUE**

On March 15th, 1974 the U.S. Army Medical Corps officially deactivated all of its surgical units still operating in Korea.

The concrete block buildings, which had long since replaced the drafty tents of wartime, were to be abandoned and torn down.

But the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital proved indestructible…for it remained perfectly intact…locked safely away…in the minds and hearts of the very special people who had both the privilege...and the misfortune…to have once been a _part_ of it all.

**The End**

Author's note: Thanks to all for sticking with the story through to the end. Please take a moment to tell me what you liked…or didn't like about it. After all, it ain't carved in stone. :very big grin:

P.S. I have two other MASH stories that I have yet to type up onto my computer…maybe real life will slack off and I can post _them_ some day, too…:fingers crossed:...:wave:

P.P.S. MASH ROCKS!


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